


Contained but Unrestrained

by fckyeahgallavich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Canon-Typical Violence, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Nothing has ever come easy for Ian and Mickey in their journey together. Each time the dust settles around them there is always someone or something around the corner to start stirring another storm and though their being locked up together seems so simple... does the dust ever truly settle behind bars?Follow the next two years of Ian and Mickey's story as they rediscover each other and make amends for their colorful past. They have a lot of shit to sort through but one thing is for certain: they will do absolutely anything for each other. Because of their devotion, however, there's always outside forces working to pry them apart. Will it finally work?





	1. Reunion

Ian had  _just_ set his belongings on the unmade top bunk when the screech of the door scraping open jarred him from a thoughtless trance. Ian prepared himself for whatever, well, whoever, entered his new cell. He cursed silently at the pitiful amount of time he'd been given to acclimate to his new surroundings, bit the metaphoric bullet, and turned around.

He damn near rubbed at his eyes like a goddamned cartoon character, certain that his eyes were playing tricks on his fragile mind because there was  _no fucking way in hell_ that was Mickey-- _his_ Mickey fuckin Milkovich was standing in front of him with a knowing grin pulling at his cheek and glinting in his eyes.

The door slammed shut behind him and Mickey stood there looking just so goddamned smug, so goddamned beautiful. Ian could not form words but even if he could he had no idea what to say or how to feel.

Mickey was locked up again... for a little over a year now Ian imagined Mickey free in Mexico: cautious but free. He had fully convinced himself that Mickey was free and now being so happy to see him here locked up  _again..._  Ian knew itwas bullshit. And yet, Goddamn him, he was elated. 

Before he could decide on what question to ask first, though he had settled on 'what the fuck are you doing here?' Mickey blurted out, "I rolled on the cartel I was working for and in exchange... guess who gets to pick where he gets locked up?" All of the air burst out of Ian's lungs at once.

"Holy fuck..." Ian gasped in response.  _That's_ why the sonofabitch looked so goddamned smug! He fucking  _planned_ this! How...? He was still confused about how all of this had come to be but he decided in that instant that he didn't care. No matter how much time he had with Mickey Milkovich, this man would always manage to surprise him.

Mickey's smirk somehow grew simultaneously more smug and softened to simple happiness. There was a brief silence before Mickey, rarely one for squishy moments (especially not by his design), snapped to business and gestured to the bottom bunk already prepared for an occupant.

"Oh, hey, I got bottom..." Mickey said with a straight face as he crossed Ian's path, but a small smile broke through the mask of calm as he reached the bunk. "So... you're on top," he finished smoothly as he rolled into his bunk. Ian watched in disbelief as Mickey tucked his hands behind his head and smiled cooly at him, temptingly licking his lips. As with any other reunion with Mickey, desire stirred deep in Ian's core mingling with the burst of happiness expanding through his chest as he watched Mickey settle into the mattress. Mickey cradled the back of his head and just observed Ian, waiting for his move. Ian still felt so breathless and so sure he was dreaming that he had to look away. Noticing no one was at the door, everyone sent to their cells for count, Ian looked back to Mickey a little surprised he was still there. Seeing Mickey's beautiful face, untouched save for a couple of days worth of stubble and the final remnants of an old sunburn, Ian couldn't contain his joy anymore and practically pounced on Mickey, taking one of his wrists in hand as Mickey liked. The thug just smiled up at him and watched as Ian took inventory of Mickey's face.

He was perfect; no scars, no bruises, no scratches... Just as it should be. His eyes roved over Mickey's face, absorbing every detail as Mickey calmly did the same. The air around them thickened with intense relief and love as they simply gazed. Ian realized he was stroking Mickey's cheek and couldn't help but grin a little at the... the pure shock of it all. Mickey was here with him. He knew it was selfish but judging by the look of complete adoration on Mickey's face, Ian knew that Mickey had no regrets.

He leaned in a bit and Mickey tilted his head, teasing. Mickey moved the hand that was still cradling his head to lay gently against the back of Ian's neck, fingertips playing lazily with the buzzed strands shaved in a straight line. It was so casual, so familiar; but it was so new too because... God when was the last time Mickey played with his hair? He sucked back some emotion he did not want to express right now and finally, after receiving the gentlest of nods from Mickey, laid his lips against his. The warmth of his lips, the gentle pressure from Mickey's hand at the back of Ian's neck, the way they breathed the same air... Ian could swear he could feel their bodies submerging into a shared space. A space where no one and nothing could ever separate them again.

The kiss was gentle and as they moved their lips against the other's, Ian felt all of the pent up loneliness and regret bubble up to the surface.

Ian broke the kiss first and rest his forehead against Mickey's. They breathed each other in and just lay pressed together for a long moment. Mickey sighed (or as close as Mickey would ever come to a sigh) and thread his fingers through the back of Ian's hair.

"Ian?" Mickey murmured into the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Why the fuck are you tryina steal my look?" Ian collapsed on top of Mickey in a fit of laughter. Mickey started laughing too and lightly held Ian's arms as they laughed. Once Ian's breaths evened out he pulled his face from Mickey's neck and grinned at him. Mickey's eyes were soft but he looked sad. He was about to kiss Mickey again when Mickey sat up abruptly, eyeing the door just as a guard passed. Ian released a breath and Mickey shrugged. 

"They don't really care but if they're in a shitty mood or something they might separate us." Mickey explained. Ian nodded. They adjusted themselves to sit on the mattress side by side and alternated between looking at each other and staring straight ahead. Finally after a good ten minutes of silence, Ian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"I'll shave it as soon as it starts growing out." Ian promised. Mickey grimaced but there was amusement there.

Mickey carded his fingers through Ian's hair, ruffling it lightly, and Ian leaned his head against the cement wall. Mickey dropped his arm but Ian caught it in his hand. Mickey's attention flashed to Ian's face as Ian took in the new tattoo.

"Cartel..." Mickey mumbled in a way that suggested he didn't want to talk about it. Anger rose in him at Mickey for joining a cartel and putting his life in jeopardy. Mickey could have gotten himself fucking killed, a fuckin white guy trying to infiltrate a Mexican drug operation... Ian knew enough about gang violence here in Chicago to know that the  _real_ cartels, the  _big boys_ don't fuckin play around. And yet... he'd survived as he always does. Hell, he'd probably thrived. Ian shut down the anger, quickly recognizing that on top of Mickey being okay, he also had no right to pick on Mickey's career choices in Mexico when he hadn't exactly made any smart choices himself... Mickey was going to be pissed when he explained everything...

They'd been sitting in silence for a long time before they looked at each other again. That electricity sparked once again and Ian could feel Mickey, the essence of Mickey, pulling him in. They leaned in together and this time neither of them initiated per se; they both leaned in, they both reached out, both cupped the other's jaw, and their lips met at the same time. Mickey, however,  _was_ the one to introduce his tongue first...

_Fuck..._

Ian groaned and returned it but quickly drew back leaving Mickey bereft.

"Fuck..." Mickey breathed. Ian nodded in agreement. They were both panting a little. Mickey dropped his hand from Ian's face to lean back against the wall to catch his breath. "Tonight," Mickey stated simply. It wasn't a demand but a declaration and Ian heartily agreed.

They looked at each other again and both burst out laughing at their fucked-out expressions but Ian quickly groaned at his semi straining against the fabric. The way Mickey adjusted himself revealed he had a similar problem.

"These uniforms don't hide fuck all so don't go walkin around thinking about anything. The guys love making fun and... 'course with who you are it could make trouble for you," Mickey warned. Ian groaned.  _Fuck again!_

"You saw?" Ian guessed. He could hardly look Mickey in the eye. Mickey nodded, eyes hard.

"They showed your arrest down there too. Slow news day, I guess... Or you pissed off the right people."

"More like--" But before Ian could return with banter the door screeched open. Must've done count with that guard who walked by.

"Oh good you're getting along!" The guard droled in what sounded like sarcastic relief. "Dinner," He snapped and both boys stood obediently. "Gallagher, follow me. Milkovich, you know the drill." Mickey turned right and Ian followed the guard off to the left. He fought not to look behind him, knowing now they had to be as DL as possible--not even because Ian was afraid of being targeted per se but because  _they_ could be targeted and he didn't want to make anything easy for anyone who decided to target one to fuck with the other. It took a month or so to gather his support in holding so the way he supposedly ran things before... that took time. But before, he had to keep a low profile, especially considering his high profile arrest. Here, he needed to blend in as much as possible not just for his sake, but for Mickey's. They could handle themselves but there was absolutely no reason to make things more difficult for them. He had someone else to look after this time.

He followed the guard down the stairs and waited for him to open a locked door on the left side of the cafeteria/social area. At the end of the long hallway they took two rights and found three offices, the doors slightly open. At the second door the guard stopped, prompting Ian to also stop.

"Your counselor is here. Talk for a few minutes and then someone will bring your meds before lights out." Ian nodded and shyly knocked at the mostly closed door.

"Enter!" A medium-pitched masculine voice called and Ian reacted accordingly. The guard left them alone. The office's lights were dimmed with a couple of lamps softly illuminating the same cement walls as Ian was already growing accustomed to seeing. A chair of questionable comfort sat directly in front of the desk which hid the body of a slightly balding auburn man. He looked friendly enough but definitely held the air of 'don't take me for granted or you won't like what you get instead.'

"Gallagher?" The man asked almost disinterestedly.

"Uh, yeah..." Ian mumbled awkwardly, picking at the pants of his uniform for something to do.

"Have a seat," The man laughed a bit, the 'silly!' endearment hinted in his tone--the perceived condescension almost made Ian roll his eyes but he held on and simply took his seat.

"So... Bipolar I with acute mania and psychotic features?" He read off Ian's file. Ian nodded. "So that's what fed your Gay Jesus delusion?" Ian actually did roll his eyes this time.

"I wouldn't call it a delusion since I wasn't the one to pick that stuff out. People just started calling me that and--"

"And you went along with it and thought kidnapping a young teenager and setting his dad's van on fire was... a normal reaction to people celebritizing you?"

Ian sighed.

"The whole thing got out of control." He allowed.

"Yeah... which explains why the delusion then continued when you were here awaiting bail?" Ian closed his eyes and didn't say anything. "Well this time around medication is a requirement for your plea deal so have you resumed your meds since your release from our care?"

"Yeah, I still had some left over from when I stopped."

"Okay and how long have you been taking them?"

"About two weeks..."

"Good, so worst of the side effects have worn off?" Ian shrugged. "Good. We do generic here so your pills will look different and you may have a bit of your side effects return with the switch but your dose will be the same and it should work about the same. If you have any issues with side effects or if you feel like they stop working let me know and we'll adjust them, okay?" Ian nodded. "My name is Dr. Wexford and I will be here at various times throughout the day and for emergencies you can get a guard to give me a call, okay?" Ian nodded again, eyebrows raised in surprise. "A nurse will bring you your meds every morning and every evening. If you need to take them with food you are responsible for doing that. If we find out you are selling or trading your meds or start refusing to take them you will be in  _serious shit_ do you understand?" Ian nodded. "Good. We also have group therapy that I advise you attend. It's a combination group for mentally ill inmates and anger-management to learn coping skills and the like for when you get out. It's a new program that I'm trying to get going to help you all with your transition when you leave so I hope you find it beneficial. And uh... I think that's it... Go on and get your dinner."

"Um, I  _do_ take my meds with food so--"

"Then I guess you better go find the nurse with the drugs. He'll be dropping by each cell so..." Ian's eyes bugged out and he bolted from the chair and was about to take off running when Dr. Wexford called, "Walk Gallagher!" Ian rolled his eyes but slowed to a shuffle.

A guard had to open the door for him to re-enter the block so all that bullshit about being able to go talk to Dr. Wexford whenever he wanted was probably bullshit, Ian realized. When he emerged from the corridor he spotted Mickey right away casually saving a spot for Ian. Their eyes met and Mickey's brows furrowed. Ian mouthed 'meds' and Mickey nodded then turned to spot the guy in a grey uniform rolling a cart dishing out packets and cups to inmates. It looked like he hadn't made it to their cell so Ian stood at the entrance to their room and waited for the man with the cart. As he waited, Ian just stared off into space, completely floored that this was happening like this... This was all too surreal. Not only was he in prison but he was in here with Mickey! This... This had to be a do over, a chance for him to make things right and do things how he should have the first time. Mickey seemed to forgive him so... this was a fresh start. From here on he planned to treat Mickey the way he had always treated him. He vowed to put Mickey first for a change and really try to make this work.

The man in scrubs rolled to his door with his cart.

"Gallagher, Ian." Ian announced before the man had to double check the roster.

"Number 111080?" Ian had to think back to intake but he finally nodded. He passed Ian a small cup with three small white pills and a medium white one. The lithium was very different but there were more pills so he guessed that made up for the size difference.

"I take them with food," Ian explained when the nurse stood there watching him. The nurse nodded and moved along. Ian placed his small cup of meds on the lip of the sink, planning to take them as soon as he finished eating, and walked back downstairs to get in line for dinner.

As he passed Mickey's table Mickey ever so slightly turned his head to watch him and they briefly met gazes. Knowing that Mickey was watching his back filled Ian with relief like he'd never known. He knew he could take care of himself in here but having Mickey to help, and finally being able to help Mickey in a scrape, made him feel the slightest bit better about the whole thing. Prison wouldn't just be survivable it would be endurable.

Terry hadn't been kidding about the sub-human quality slop they called food. The food had been pretty bad in holding block too but somehow it still hadn't been quite this bad... This looked like a mound of ground meat of unidentifiable origin with small bits of vegetables mixed in, a fruit cup which may or may not have been in-date and a barely in-date carton of milk. He and Mickey were going to stock the fuck up on commissary food it seemed... Ian made a mental note to ask Lip to see about setting up a direct deposit from his savings to his commissary.

Ian ignored a couple of remarks from people who recognized him as he wove his way over to the seat Mickey reserved for him. The guy sitting across from Mickey looked surprised and amused.

"Bunkie warmed up to you quick, Milkovich." The guy laughed, scooping a spoonful of fruit into his mouth and swallowing it whole, a technique Ian took note of.

"You his bitch already? I figured a Gay Jesus'd be too pure to submit. 'Specially so quick." He laughed breathily. It was the most disturbing laugh Ian'd heard in a long time and it took everything to stop his lip from curling up in discomfort and irritation.

"Marcus?" Mickey responded evenly. The guy looked up. "Shut the fuck up." His face was a chilling calm that forewarned a violent reaction should his request go unheeded. Marcus rolled his eyes and returned to his tray. Ian fought the urge to look at Mickey, not wanting to reaffirm the "bitch" bullshit whether marcus would have the balls to comment or not.

They ate in silence for a tense minute before Mickey spoke again.

"Who wanted to see you?" Ian turned to meet Mickey's curious gaze.

"Oh, just a doc letting me know what 'services' they provide."

"Oh yeah, and what  _quality_ services they can provide since they _feed_ us so fucking well..." Marcus jumped in as Mickey opened his mouth. But Mickey laughed with him. "Must cut on the cost of this slop to afford these new bullshit programs," Marcus rolled his eyes resentfully. Ian grinned just to feel like he fit in but he was quickly feeling like he stepped into something.

"So you got the spiel that you can't work, but can work out once a day and otherwise sit around bored outta your mind, that right?" Mickey guessed before choking down a chunk of meat mount.

"Not exactly. He told me about group therapy... said it was new and thought I could benefit--"

"Snitching circle? He told you to go there?" Marcus interrupted. Ian shrugged, rolled his eyes, and choked his own mouthful of 'food' down, fighting it through his gag reflex. Mickey gave a wry smile that communicated his wish to comfort Ian through the experience. " Yeah, they tried to get me to do that shit, too. Said I could use some anger management skills." Marcus laughed with another eyeroll. He was mostly poking at the meat remaining on his tray but never raised another fork-full to his mouth.

"You gonna do it?" Mickey asked, wary. Ian met his eyes to weigh what he was trying to convey in the look. Ian was out of practice of reading Mickey's eyes so he couldn't really tell  _what_ he was trying to communicate... There wasn't a warning to keep his mouth shut... but he didn't look comfortable either.

"It didn't sound like I had much of a choice, honestly." Ian finally responded slowly.

"Who woulda thought a 'Gay Jesus' would freak out the big-wigs enough to force group therapy on him," Marcus griped, impressed. Ian had to fight his urge to prove just how intimidating Gay Jesus could be. He was already getting tired of this prick's assumptions that he was a fuckin fairy or some shit--a sweet little twink who wasn't capable of taking care of himself in here. Back in holding Ian fucking ran the place and... fuck did he want to prove that here and now. But Ian didn't even need to turn to see Mickey's warning stare to know that would be stupid. He didn't want to play up his threat, but he didn't want to be seen as an easy target, either. He also didn't want to tempt the ignorance of someone with no understanding of mental illness and make himself a target for that reason. Basically... Ian was fucking stuck and based on Mickey's look in his eyes, he was thinking the same thing. Finally, Ian smiled.

"Guess I did something big, huh?"

"'Parently so..." Marcus grinned. It was a cold smile that made Ian feel like he said the absolute wrong thing. He looked to Mickey to gauge his reaction but Mickey had the perfect poker face and he said nothing.

From there, Marcus jumped into explaining some of the bigger dudes in here that Gay Jesus would do well to avoid for one reason or another--homophobe, enjoys collecting prison bitches, may want to establish respect and beat down Ian's celebrity status, etc. it wasn't as though he hadn't considered any of this shit and it wasn't as though he didn't face the same risks back in holding but... some of the shit Marcus talked about hinted that word has spread about Ian's respectful bunkie relationship standoff at the other block and that he may have intrigued some guys...

_Great._

Mickey absorbed this information and outwardly took this news with a grain of salt, laughing at some of the names of the guys who apparently thought they could take Gay Jesus on. But even as Mickey laughed he didn't try to build Ian's rep up or anything... He didn't add any commentary or insult the guy Marcus named, just let the name drift away to imply he was unconcerned enough to not engage. Ian followed Mickey's lead and just shrugged when Marcus asked if Ian was worried.

"A little twink like you thinks you can take these fuckers on?" Marcus challenged, dark smile still placed confidently on his face. Ian looked to Mickey, which he probably shouldn't have done but he really didn't know what to say here.

"I guess I'm just hoping it won't come to that." Ian replied diplomatically. Marcus nodded.

"Show respect, you'll be fine." Marcus finally said and Ian suddenly remembered the last time he'd heard that at age 16 in that group home. It was an easy enough lesson to learn but not always with a set of rules that were easy to follow. At the group home he'd had Lip to protect him and Mickey to explain how to play it. Here he had Mickey with him and as intimidating as Marcus tried to be, Ian got the impression that Mickey was the alpha between the two of them and he genuinely didn't have anything to worry about.

He hoped...

/////

The door slammed shut behind them as Ian reached for his cup of pills still sitting on the sink. Mickey must have acquired a cup at some point before Ian got here because they weren't issued one at intake but there was a short, plastic, beige, cup resting on the opposite side of the sink from his pills. 

"You went off 'em, huh?" Mickey accused but his tone was gentle. Ian filled the cup with water from the sink, his stomach roiling as he tried not to think about how dirty this water likely was, and turned to him. Mickey's gaze was wary, anxiously awaiting Ian's answer. Finally, Ian nodded. Mickey's eyes hardened in further accusation.

"When?" He demanded, his voice sounded tight and Ian couldn't tell if it was in anger or something else. Ian put the cup of water and pills back on the sink and leaned back against it. 

"About four months after Monica died," Ian answered plainly, factually. Mickey's eyes bust open and he gawked.

"She died? W--When? How?" Ian nodded and  his heart broke for Mickey who looked so lost as to how to react. Mickey seemed to wrestle with wanting to comfort him and the remaining justified anger at Ian. Mickey being so lost at what to do broke Ian's heart because... As long as he could remember, if there was nothing Mickey was sure about, it had always been how to comfort an Ian Gallagher in distress. "You... you okay... Now?" Ian smiled a little and stepped forward, brushing Mickey's arm with his fingertips, testing Mickey's reaction. When he didn't jerk away, Ian took Mickey's hand in his and squeezed.

"Yeah, I'm all good now. It was rough at first and no one else really gave a shit so... I was pretty much on my own with the grieving thing but... I'm alright now--"

"You went off your meds, Ian, that's not 'all good.'" Mickey replied harshly, but he still didn't rip his hand away.

"And I'm back on them now so... Yeah I'm doin alright again, I promise." He ensured they maintained eye contact as he said it, he needed Mickey to understand that as off the rails as Ian went... he was railing himself again, he was going the right direction--jail besides. Mickey blew out a harsh breath and sat on the bunk, gently disentangling their fingers. He dropped his head into his hands and stay there, folded over, for a long moment.

"Are you only on them because the court made you?" Mickey demanded. Ian released all the air in his lungs and looked down at his shoes. 

"It's why I got back on them," he admitted, "But now that I'm back on them, thinkin clearly, I know I need to stay on them." Once again they had maintained eye contact but Mickey averted his soon after Ian was done speaking in what looked like resentment. Ian's heart fractured even more seeing that look on Mickey's face...

And yet he knew deep down that he deserved it...

He turned around and grabbed both cups again. Ian swallowed his medicine one pill at a time standing directly in front of Mickey who only looked up to watch Ian swallow the last two.

"See? I'm taking responsibility. I'm not fuckin around with this, I'm doing what I have to do... I'll be that person who had his shit together again... I'll just have a bit more baggage than before. But--" but Ian needed Mickey to know that the person Ian became while Mickey was locked up in prison the last time... that person he shoved in Mickey's face when he claimed to have his shit together... Mickey deserved Ian when he was that person. The person who had the capability of paying Mickey the attention he deserved, the Ian who could spoil the fuck out of Mickey even though Mickey was too lowkey of a person to really want any of it, he just... Now that he knew who he was capable of being on his meds and with the right things going for him, he wanted that for himself again and wanted to be that person for Mickey.

Mickey nodded, sniffed, and stiffly lay down against the wall leaving plenty of space for Ian to crawl in after him.

Ian settled facing Mickey, back to the door, and they watched each other warily. It reminded him of when Mickey returned to him after two days of not being able to face him when he came out of the hospital. Mickey had been so apologetic,  _so fucking_ sorry for not being there when he was released or answering his calls. Ian had forgiven him immediately, of course. He didn't even see anything to forgive at the time and he still didn't, really. He'd just been grateful Mickey came back. That was what had mattered.

Mickey always came back...

He knew deep down he couldn't rely on that forever, but for now he was grateful this was the case so they could have another chance--surely the last, Ian admitted to himself. He was about to lean in to kiss Mickey when the signal for count came on. Mickey sighed in aggravation, his eyes closing tight. Ian stroked Mickey's face for a too-brief moment and rolled back off Mickey's bunk to make his own. He really should have made his bed before dinner because now he really didn't want to but he had been so blown away by Mickey being here that he didn't even really think about it until just now. He pulled the sheets and pillow out of the mesh sack they gave him at intake and worked quickly to tuck the sheets around the mattress, struggling with the back corner. Mickey didn't move a muscle as Ian worked so Ian assumed he was lost in thought. Today was probably a big day for Mickey too, Ian realized.

The guard walked by just as Ian finished tucking his blanket around the bottom left corner and reached for the pillow. 

"Lights out should be in five minutes. We're at the back of count so it ain't long after we see a guard cross." Mickey explained from the bottom bunk. Ian nodded even though Mickey likely wasn't looking at him and wouldn't be able to see him even if he was.

Ian hoisted himself to the top bunk and rest on his back, staring up at the ceiling absently. It was the most silent they'd been since he got here because even when they had been quiet earlier it was like... At least they were looking at each other or their fingers were threaded together. 

This silence was heavy; not quite suffocating but it was uncomfortable.

"You were on your meds when you came with me to Mexico?" Mickey asked from below Ian who started at Mickey's sudden question. He sank into the mattress, the nylon crinkling as he fidgeted.

"Yeah, I was." Not one sound permeated from the bottom bunk until five minutes after the lights clicked out.

"Your Grandpa ass pass out, Gallagher?" Ian couldn't help but laugh at the relief. Mickey wasn't  _that_ mad at him then... They just had some shit to discuss.

"Just didn't know if you were still down," He admitted, sitting up.

"Have I ever turned you down before?" Mickey griped. Ian smirked because, no, no Mickey had not. His power bottom had the stamina to keep up with Ian's hypersexually-manic ass for the four months he was on that high with some to spare.

"When will another guard be due?" Ian asked, swinging his body around to prep for the drop to the ground. 

"Not for a coupla hours. But I meant it when I said they don't give a shit. Since no one's walkin around with blue balls it keeps the prisoners happy so the guards don't care so long as it's kept in cells during lights out when they can pretend they don't see anything." Ian nodded to himself, accepting the logic and vaulted over the edge to drop to the floor.

Mickey sat up and started pulling at the buttons of his jumpsuit. Ian dove to the bottom bunk and picked up the task. Mickey kissed Ian forcefully and also reached out to attack the buttons on Ian's uniform. Ian introduced his tongue first this time, cradling the back of Mickey's head with one had for leverage. Mickey groaned and met his tongue with his own, stealing Ian's breath as they kissed. He released the back of Mickey's head to return his fingers to unfastening the remaining buttons.They wasted no time when Mickey's buttons were all undone and together they tore at the material on Mickey's shoulders, shoving the fabric to his waist. Before Ian could continue pulling on Mickey's uniform, Mickey started tearing at the shoulders of Ian's and before he knew it they'd pulled his whole uniform off. As Ian flung off the rest of his underclothes, Mickey finished stripping himself and leaned back. Ian took Mickey in but not at all like how he did earlier examining Mickey's face... That was relief and excitement. This was fuckin carnal.

They reached for each other at the same time but Mickey pulled Ian into him, laying them both back as their lips sealed together. Ian leaned on one arm to keep most of his weight off Mickey but the other hand explored frantically, cupping Mickey's jaw then trailing down his chest to grip at his hip... brushing back up his abdomen to caress his face and quickly running back down his chest to once again grasp his hip. Mickey's hands remained clasped around the back of Ian's neck and on his shoulder but he responded to every single touch, tilting his hip and rocking into Ian as the redhead's hand explored. 

Mickey released the kiss first to gasp for breath and Ian sank his head into Mickey's neck to kiss and lightly suck. Mickey threw his head back and sank into the mattress. As Ian wrapped his hand around Mickey's shaft, though, the brunette's body tightened. Ian slid low down Mickey's body and quickly, without giving either of them a chance to think or breathe, he swallowed Mickey down and set a steady rhythm. Mickey struggled to hold in his moan as Ian set to work, somehow managing to release a steady stream of breath and curl his fingers in Ian's hair. Too soon, though, Ian released the other man's cock and trailed down again. Mickey grinned breathlessly and propped his legs up for Ian just as his tongue met the ring of muscle. Ian groaned as he caressed Mickey's opening with his tongue, carefully and teasingly opening him up. Mickey gasped as Ian's tongue slipped into him. His hips lifted a little, giving Ian better access as he stroked Mickey's opening with his tongue--the sensation set Mickey's eyes rolling to the back of his head and Ian grinned as he watched, to the best of his ability, Mickey unravel beneath him.

"Fuck... Ian." He groaned softly. Ian chuckled darkly as he thrust his tongue even deeper. Mickey gasped but otherwise remained completely still as Ian fucked him with his tongue, accepting all Ian was willing to give. The gravity of this moment settled over the both of them like the warmest blanket on the coldest day. All while Ian worked on Mickey they exchanged small glances and smiles, Mickey caressed Ian's face or hair and Ian intertwined his fingers with Mickey's... This was where they were safe. This was where they both had always been safe, from the very beginning.

Ian gently slipped out of Mickey, licked up his shaft one more time and settled over him. He gently stroked his cheek and locked gazes with him... The abundant love in Mickey's eyes damn near choked Ian as he was consumed by Mickey's love for him. Mickey spread his legs ever so slightly to remind Ian what he was there to do and Ian wrapped a hand around Mickey's thighs, guiding it up to his waist where Mickey then draped his leg over Ian's hip. He released his thigh and reached between them to slowly sink one finger inside Mickey. 

The brunette's eyes fluttered shut as he absorbed the sensation of Ian entering him and rocked back on the finger. With one going so easily, Ian teased Mickey's opening with a second finger and slowly allowed that one to join the first. A small noise gasped from Mickey's throat and he clutched to Ian. Ian was prepared to back off but he quickly realized this wasn't a painful noise or action, Mickey was absorbing the experience, feeling everything they were doing. Mickey often went to this place when they were together. Ian had noticed it long before they were officially a couple. At first he had believed Mickey was pretending he wasn't fucking a dude because he was so terrified of being gay... but once they were officially together and Mickey didn't flip out anymore when Ian referenced what they did as 'making love,' Ian realized that this... thing Mickey does--that thing where he closes his eyes, sinks into the mattress, and opens himself in the most vulnerable way--this thing was Mickey truly living in the moment and appreciating what they were doing. It almost looked like Mickey was having a sort of religious moment whenever they were joined and it struck Ian now just how profound it was that after all of this time Mickey still got that same look on is face, even just from fingering him open.

Mickey had winced a little bit at the third finger so Ian slowed down and allowed Mickey to relax, to accept him in order to fully prepare. As soon as Mickey bit his lip and arched into Ian he withdrew and the whine that burst from Mickey's chest almost made Ian laugh.

Almost.

As adorable as Mickey was about 90% of the time, he was only adorable when Ian didn't let on how adorable he was being. And Ian was really loving this moment so getting Mickey up in arms about his vulnerability was simply not an option right now. Ian did chance a grin though as Mickey opened his eyes to gaze at Ian as he entered him. Ian tipped his forehead against Mickey's and as he bottomed out they both released a joined breath of what felt like reverence. They stayed joined for a long moment before Ian kissed Mickey's cheek and slowly retreated then snapped his hips forward. Mickey sighed and tilted his hips up to accept Ian's next thrust and pinned his legs solidly against Ian's sides. Ian tucked his face into Mickey's neck, holding himself up by his elbows as he gradually sped his thrusts, Mickey lightly grunting every time they reconnected.

Their pants and sighs filled the air and Ian felt a protective shell envelop them as they absorbed each other. It was like coming home, being with Mickey again. He had missed him even more than he realized and as he fought back some embarrassingly strong emotion, Ian knew that he couldn't possibly fuck this up again. Mickey was his ride or die and he had taken Mickey's loyalty for granted too many times. 

He raised up from his elbows to his hands and picked up the power behind his thrusts. Mickey tossed his head to the side and clenched his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip as a loud moan  _almost_ burst from him. Ian laughed a throaty laugh but Mickey didn't seem to hear. His brows creased as he seemed to focus intently on wrapping as much of himself around Ian as possible, throwing his legs around Ian's waist and his arms around Ian's neck. Ian lowered himself once again, feeling instinctually that Mickey was close. 

" _Ian...."_ Mickey groaned as his fingernails dug into Ian's shoulders. Ian panted out a heavy breath and kissed Mickey's jaw.

"Close?" Ian asked. Mickey nodded fervently. "Gonna go untouched?" Mickey's eyes opened and he looked desperately up at Ian.

"Your call, man." Mickey finally said, letting his legs slip back down to simply cradling Ian's sides. Ian looped his arms around the backs of Mickey's thighs, propping them higher and thrust deeper and deeper. Mickey's mouth burst open and thankfully no sound came out but Ian was already shushing him. Mickey laughed a little and he tugged at his own hair as he continued taking what Ian was giving, visibly struggling to keep quiet.

"I'm close, Mick--" Ian warned. Mickey wrapped his arms back around Ian's neck and thrust his fingers into Ian's hair as he brought their faces close together.

"Go." Mickey grunted through gritted teeth. Mickey came first as Ian delivered another powerful thrust and the tightening of Mickey's ass brought him to his own climax. It was several moments after his hips stopped before he realized they'd both bitten each other's shoulders in their efforts to keep quiet. Ian slowly closed his mouth, gently removing his teeth from Mickey's shoulder and laid a gentle kiss against the ridges in his skin. Mickey also freed Ian's shoulder and released a deep breath as he continued to cling to Ian. They stay like that for a long, long time: Ian buried deep inside of Mickey, Mickey's legs pinned tightly against Ian's sides, toes curled against his thighs, Mickey's arms wrapped securely around Ian's shoulders and Ian supporting the both of them as much as possible. Ian's arms started to buckle, though, and  he slowly snaked an arm around Mickey's back as he lowered himself on top of him.

After a long moment of silence Ian finally withdrew from Mickey who barely even reacted to Ian's actions.  _So much for calling me a grandpa..._ Ian laughed to himself as Mickey settled into the mattress looking like he was already mostly asleep.

"Hey, c'mon man, we can't be caught like this." Ian shook him gently. Mickey grumbled groggily in agreement and sat up but there was a resentful huff as he did so. Ian chuckled to himself as he, too, sat up and gathered his clothes. They stuck to the prison-issued boxers and their tee shirts but folded their jumpsuits to pull on tomorrow. Still standing, Ian took Mickey's hand in his, encouraging him to look up at him. When Mickey did meet his gaze, Ian smiled warmly on instinct. What they just did reminded him of so many passionate nights at the Milkovich house when they made love damn near every night. Though they'd tried their hardest to replicate this feeling on the blanket out in the desert, there was only so much they could do on that hard and unforgiving ground. Though this was still not ideal this was the closest they'd come to being together in a normal way in...  _Fuck,_ had it really already been three years? He cupped Mickey's cheek and drew him in, Mickey went willingly and their lips met for a soft and sweet kiss. 

"I love you, Mick." Ian sighed as their lips parted. Mickey watched Ian intently for a long, long moment, stirring Ian's anxiety as he awaited Mickey's answer.

"I love you too, Ian." He breathed in return. Ian released a breath of relief and grinned broadly. Mickey's face didn't reflect a similar feeling, though, and anxiety ignited Ian's stomach again.  _Fuck..._

"I guess... I guess we should get to sleep, huh?" Ian suggested to break the slight awkwardness that slipped over them. Mickey finally averted his eyes from Ian's and nodded.

"Yeah they get us up early as fuck so probably should."

Neither of them moved even though standing there like this was awkward as fuck. With the tips of his fingers, Ian lightly turned Mickey's attention back to him and kissed him one more time. Mickey allowed all of this with absolutely no resistance but it still didn't make Ian feel any better about this sudden shift in demeanor. Mickey broke away first and rolled into his bunk, leaving Ian standing alone in the center of their cell. He stared after Mickey for a long moment wondering what the fuck happened but couldn't gather the courage to say anything.

He went to the sink, grabbed the toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste from the mesh bag and brushed his teeth just for something to focus on until he could settle his stomach. Beside him Mickey was laying completely still and when Ian turned slightly to look at him, his eyes were completely open and he was observing the under-side of the top bunk as though it was the most fascinating thing about this place.

He brushed his teeth longer than probably necessary but he needed to do something with his hands and he knew that once he lay down he would have to be still for the remainder of the night to allow Mickey to sleep. He rinsed his mouth out, rinsed the brush, and replaced the brush and tube of toothpaste in the mesh bag. He quickly scaled the bunk bed and climbed into his bunk. He lay on his side, fighting the feeling of apprehension and worry, reminding himself that this whole experience was probably more emotion than Mickey was accustomed to processing and he probably just needed to check out for a bit... Yeah, that was it.

Still, the look on Mickey's face had filled Ian with the feeling that something was definitely wrong.

"Good night, Mick." Ian whispered into the still quiet.

Nothing sounded from the bunk below.


	2. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All cards are laid out on the table and they are stripping everything away. It's make it or break it time and Mickey and Ian both hope they can build back what they once had. But a lot of resentment is simmering beneath the surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my bestie @southernfriedblondebitch on Tumblr/ @bi_bi_eli on Twitter for giving feedback for this chapter to help with keeping our boys in character and with pacing of the chapter. Love ya, babe!

Ian slept fitfully, anxiety crowding his stomach and raising his heart into his throat. At one point in the night he heard Mickey’s deep, slow breaths deepen into light snores. This calmed him minimally because if he closed his eyes he could transport back in time to when he heard those snores every night. Back when he was undoubtedly happiest.

 

_ Ian just finished putting Yevgeny to sleep. The kid was in the middle of a fussy phase where he refused to go to sleep at a reasonable time. He’d cry and cry as Ian walked him around the house speaking gently to him. After a half hour or so the kid would slowly nod off in his arms. _

_ Ian quietly entered their bedroom and quickly stripped off his tee shirt and jeans. Mickey was lounging on the bed, naked except for a sheet pulled up to his waist, flipping through a magazine. _

_ “About fuckin time,” Mickey grumbled. _

_ “You could try it.” Ian replied with an eyeroll, shedding his boxers and climbing into bed. Mickey snorted and tossed his magazine to the bedside table and Ian grinned. He loved rocking their son to sleep just as much as he loved climbing into bed to talk or make love or whatever they felt like doing in the comfort of their room, covered by the warm feeling of knowing everyone was in bed, safe and happy. _

_ They settled under the sheet and turned to face each other but didn’t touch. _

_ “He might like it if you’re there with me.” Ian hinted softly. Mickey averted his eyes awkwardly. “I know you don’t like being around him much but he loves you.” Mickey made a noise almost like pain and Ian backed off. _

_ “Okay, it’s just an idea.” Mickey nodded and leaned forward to kiss Ian gently. They made love that night so soft, so gentle, Ian could have sworn they were floating. When they finished, Mickey wrapped his arm over Ian’s chest, wrapping his fingers over his shoulder, and fell asleep with his head resting on Ian’s chest. _

_ Mickey was so worn out he fell asleep almost immediately. This was their routine--Ian put Yevy to sleep if Svet wasn’t there and after they made love, sometimes rough and/or kinky and sometimes soft and loving like tonight, Mickey always fell asleep afterward. Mickey didn’t always snore but when he did it was like a low grumble in his chest. It reminded Ian of when Mickey mumbled grumpily to himself except followed by the whistle of air blowing between his minimally parted lips. Ian was always so confused when people complained about their partners snoring because Mickey’s was so adorable and in an odd way comforting. It was a sound that told him Mickey was sleeping soundly and that he was breathing well. It was a sound that told him he had nothing to worry about. He’d rather listen to Mickey breathe--feel his body expand with each inhale and collapse with each exhale, feel every twitch in his muscles as he dreamed and soothe him when it felt like he was having a nightmare--than just about anything else at this time of night. _

_ Ian would eventually fall asleep, of course. But for those twenty minutes or so he loved watching Mickey sleep and holding his solid form in his hands. _

 

He snapped his burning eyes open and choked back a sob. It had been a  _ long  _ time since he’d thought about his estranged stepson and about life at the Milkovich house… And in this moment he had never yearned for something so desperately in his life. He wanted it so bad it was suffocating him. He bit his fist trying to keep quiet so as not to wake Mickey… but he heard Mickey’s snores stop and the mattress rustle as he sat up beneath him. Ian covered his eyes in humiliation.

“The fuck, man?” Mickey groaned from beneath him.

“I know…” Ian mumbled back.

“You’ve been  _ in  _ this shit before,” Mickey griped over the sound of the nylon crinkling as he swung his body around and stood up. Suddenly he was by the head of Ian’s bed, his eyes bleary from sleep but also concern.

“I think I just… Didn’t realize how much I missed you until now. I didn’t really let myself think about you or us when I got home because I thought I’d never see you again so I… I just didn’t let myself miss you for a while and move on. It’s just hitting me all at once I guess.” Mickey’s brows furrowed.

“You missed me… and so you’re cryin about it now with me in the bunk under you?” Mickey asked, his tone conveying that he kinda thought Ian was being ridiculous. This was fair because Ian knew he was being ridiculous.

“I know… It’s just a lot to suddenly have you back and realize that there might be a chance of us being together outside… I really never thought that would ever happen.” Ian replied quietly, turning onto his side to look down directly into Mickey’s eyes, which he averted, his jaw set tight.  _ Uh oh….  _

“Couldn’t you realize that without the fuckin waterworks?” Mickey finally asked after a moment of chewing over his words, looking back to Ian. Ian laughed a little and wiped his eyes again.

“What’s reminiscing about rocking Yevgeny to sleep and sleeping in your bed every night without you?” Ian meant it as a joke but… it wasn’t a very good one. Mickey narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Why the fuck were you thinking about that?”

“I didn’t mean to it just… Listening to you snore reminded me of that. I think--I don’t think I’ve been that happy since then,” Ian replied shyly.

“Well, you’ll be blissed to know you get to listen to me snore for the next two years so there’s no need to go fuckin crying about it.” He snarked. Ian grinned at Mickey’s teasing and sat up a little on his forearm.

“And you get to put up with my emotional ass every time these fucking pills need to be adjusted, so buckle up,” Ian laughed. Mickey shrugged but smiled fondly. 

“The lady at the clinic said 30-40, right?” Ian’s breath caught at the meaning behind Mickey’s memory. Mickey had been fully prepared to stick it through with him for 30-40 years before… and clearly that hadn’t changed.

“Gonna be able to put up with my shitty puns for the next two years, though? You’re not used to them so you might’ve lost your tolerance,” Ian joked further. Mickey’s smile deepened.

“Please, two years ain’t enough for me to forget how to deal with those. I’ve been putting up with that for years and you’ll still be doing it ten years from now, I can handle it.” Ian laughed but then suddenly grew solemn. Ten years... 

“How much time do you have?” Ian asked, suddenly realizing Mickey had never said. Mickey averted his eyes. “Mick…?” 

“Don’t panic, Princess, you won’t have to wait that long before getting this ass again.” He griped resentfully. Ian blinked rapidly in surprise.  _ Where the fuck did that come from? _

“I--I wasn’t panicking, I was just asking a fucking question!” Mickey visibly bit the inside of his cheek. “Mickey… I get we have shit to talk about but… can’t you just give it to me straight? How much time did you get?”

“I struck a good deal,” Mickey finally allowed. Ian raised his brows to egg him on. Mickey sighed. “I handed them the leader of the cartel and the major storehouse I worked at so they busted a lot of members so that buys them time to track down other members…”

“Mickey…” Ian dropped his voice low, he almost sounded stern but really he was now panicked that it  _ was  _ ten years.

“Five years with good behavior,” he finally blurted out. Ian’s lungs collapsed in his chest.

“Five…” 

“Better’n eight, right?” Mickey replied resentfully. “And two of ‘em you’ll be in here with me so… you’re only looking at three years on your own.” He sounded that kind of angry when he was feeling scared.  _ Christ.  _ Mickey was afraid Ian was going to leave him behind again…

“Mick--”

“It’s the best I could get. That court appointed guy actually gave a shit and he was actually good so he actually tried. It could’ve been ten years no parole--”

“Why are you defending this so hard? I just… I just hate that you’re going to be here after I get out, that’s  _ all. _ ” He swiftly slid back to the floor to face his partner.

“Because I’m not getting back in this shit if you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist when you get out. I’m done being ghosted. I came back to see if you wanted to give it another shot, yeah, but mostly because only God knows how you’re going to do in here for two years and with that fairie messiah title over your head. But we’re settling this now.”

“You think I’m just going to leave you behind?”

“Haven’t exactly shown me that you wouldn’t. I just had to know you were going to be okay and know that it was over.”

“Over?!” Ian cried, actually feeling a lump raise to his throat. “Mickey, where the fuck is this even coming from? Two hours ago we… I thought everything was going to be okay…”

Mickey gazed intently in Ian’s eyes. Ian really was starting to panic. He  _ just  _ got Mickey back and things were already falling apart?

“You say that now… And I want to believe that. But I can’t spend three years in this place without a visit or call or some sort of promise that you’re going to be there when I get out.”

“I was  _ always  _ there when you got out!” Ian cried. Mickey rolled his eyes and gave Ian a look that told him he’d better rethink that. Ian averted his eyes as though nonverbally saying he retracted his statement.

“We have a lot to talk about and as happy as I am to see you again and even though I’m going to watch your back in here, I need to know that you’re  _ in _ before I put myself out there for you again.” Ian glanced to the bed they’d just made love in and furrowed his brow. So… that warm feeling had only been on his side? Mickey didn’t return that feeling anymore? Ian was so fucking confused he couldn’t even wrap his head around this sudden change... but none of that mattered. Mickey wasn’t convinced that Ian was here to stay and… if he was being fair Mickey wasn’t exactly unreasonable in that concern.

“How can I show that to you?” Ian whispered into the quiet. Mickey bit his lip.

“I don’t know… I just hoped when I decided to come back that by the time you get out I’ll be convinced. But I’m telling you here and now I’m done with taking chances on your ass.” Ian nodded slowly.

“I’m back on my meds now… I really am. So… That’s one fight out of the way…” He meant it as a joke but Mickey’s face didn’t budge so he clearly didn’t take it as one.

“You also left me at the border when you were on your meds…” Mickey murmured after an awkward beat of silence. He didn’t even sound angry this time, just hurt. Ian had never felt more gutted straight to the core.

“Mick--”

“Rotation is gonna send someone up here soon, I’ll bet, and we don’t want to be squaring off when an officer walks by,” Mickey grumbled, his face hardening in that way that said ‘conversation closed.’

“Tomorrow… We’ll talk tomorrow. Whatever you need.” Ian knew he had to convince Mickey once and for all that this was it, he was it for him. He’d tried other partners, he’d tried moving on, he’d tried forgetting and no matter how he hardened himself or distanced himself, the thug was still under his skin. And this was the first time he was seeing how badly he’d hurt Mickey. 

This was going to be even more complicated than Ian had thought.

 

/////

 

It would shock absolutely no one to discover Mickey Milkovich doesn’t  _ do  _ displays of emotion. Mickey Milkovich doesn’t do tears or profuse apologies and talking shit out gives him the jitters. So being woken up to the love of his life in tears and shaking from the effort of trying not to let Mickey know he was crying was the most uncomfortable experience he’d had in a while. And he’d just been fucked without lube…

He didn’t mean to say all of that shit or start a fight. It all just came out without his permission. The idea that Ian could possibly miss their old life  _ so  _ much simply from hearing him snore and after ignoring his existence while he’d been locked up just… It rubbed him the wrong way. 

When he’d set up this deal he didn’t know this simmering resentment existed.  All he’d thought about was how much Ian needed his help and he came running like a trained dog.

It was pathetic but Mickey was used to being pathetic for Ian Gallagher.

He didn’t even know why he was so angry when two days ago he’d been so excited about seeing Ian again he hadn’t been able to see.

But for all of his sudden anger, Mickey knew he wanted to work it out. That was why he came back. That was why he always would come back--Because he was fucking ruined for anyone else--trust, he tried--and he could see how Ian still loved him each time they reunited. If it weren’t for that look--the look like Mickey was Ian’s center of gravity--Mickey would be able to move on. Ian always looked at him like Mickey hung his favorite star… And maybe that’s because if he could, he would.

They had a lot of shit to discuss apparently, Mickey realized as he tossed and turned through the rest of the night. Before he put all of his hopes into this relationship again he needed to know that Ian was going to stay on his meds and that once he was that he wouldn’t wisen up and leave him behind as soon as he got out. As hard as eight years had looked, it had been bearable when Ian visited. Then out of nowhere, nothing.

Mickey couldn’t take three years in here hoping that Ian would visit, hoping he would still be there for him. He already felt resentment building at the thought of Ian leaving him behind again--of turning himself in, sacrificing his freedom and safety for someone who might just leave him here to rot alone… again.

But he needed to stop himself. Things could change and getting pissed at Ian for something he hadn’t even done yet was unfair.

He was taking a chance on love and if Ian didn’t meet him half-way that was as much his fault as Ian’s. 

Ian’s deep breaths sounded from the top bunk and Mickey’s heart prickled in his chest as he remembered Ian crying earlier. This wasn’t the first time the Gallagher has lost it in front of him and knowing his emotional ass, it wouldn’t be the last. Mickey really didn’t mind the waterworks as much as he let on, it’s just that… hearing Ian lose his shit like that made him want to tear out whatever it was of himself that would replace what was broken inside Ian. He would rip out his own heart for Ian. When Ian would cry for days on end from his depression, Mickey had wanted to trade bodies so badly he had wrapped himself around Ian’s body as though by being near him for long enough they would somehow share that pain. He found out later that Ian hated being touched when he was sick so Mickey never did it again, but it pained him to  _ not  _ touch him when he was like that. And in this case it pained him because he was so  _ fucking  _ angry and yet he couldn’t focus on his anger at Ian when Ian was agonizing over something. Nothing would get resolved and Mickey couldn’t put his heart on the line again. 

Not. Again.

If Ian was only intending on having them be together while they were both here, Mickey would be fine with that. He would serve his three years alone, serve his parole time, and leave Chicago again, never looking back. All he needed was for Ian to tell him that. Honesty. That was what they needed. 

Mickey had never lied to Ian before… Well… Not since he came out. And even before then it was always more of  _ denial  _ moreso than actual lying… Plus, it wasn’t like he had been fooling anyone…

Mickey huffed and flipped to his side.

The truth was, he was fooling himself if he really thought he could hold this grudge up for long. Last time they saw each other Mickey had been angry about being abandoned too… yet all he said on the matter: “you never fucking visited me” and a punch to the arm. Ian hadn’t even provided a solid excuse and Mickey was ready to move on.

Well… Not this time. This time Mickey was going to stand firm. Ian was going to be honest with him and let him know what his plans were and what’s more, he wasn’t going to let Ian lie to himself. Maybe Ian was convinced for now that he wasn’t going to abandon Mickey again… but now Mickey needed proof. Real and solid proof that Ian meant it this time. And one way or another Mickey was going to harden himself against Ian Gallagher because he didn’t know if he could handle being left behind again… with or without honest preparation.

….

Mickey woke up with the lights blaring on sore and grumpy  _ as fuck _ . Ian sniffed above him and sat up, his feet dangling in the center of the bunk. Mickey was so tempted to touch his feet affectionately, remind the recently de-reded redhead that he was there, but reminded himself of the promise he made to himself and solidified his resolve. Ian jumped down from the bunk and pawed at  his uniform to start pulling it on. Mickey sat up and hissed a bit at the sting in his ass.  _ Ugh.  _ Okay, so going at it even as slowly as they did was probably not one of their smartest ideas. Ian flashed around and blearily searched his face.

“You alright?” He asked, sticking a leg drunkenly through the wrong side of the pants.

“Ugh, yeah, just sore.” Mickey replied, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“Fuck… yeah, we’ve gotta track down some lube, huh?” Mickey arched a brow at him conveying how ridiculous that idea was. “What…  _ no one  _ uses lube here?” Mickey shrugged and stood up. Ian tossed him his uniform and finished pulling on his own. Mickey slowly put his own on, standing up as he pulled them up his legs. “What’d you use?” Ian asked as he finished sticking his arms through the sleeves. Mickey shimmied into the suit and started pulling on the sleeves too and focused intently on the task.

“Um… lotion… vaseline… Didn’t really work that great but it was what we had.” Mickey finally raised his eyes to look at Ian who grimaced.

“Yeah…. That stuff’s not really for internal use, man.” Mickey shrugged and Ian bit his lip. They were both fully dressed and standing in the middle of their cell trying not to look like they were trying not to look at each other. “I’m uh… I’m sorry about last night…” Ian mumbled. Mickey looked up to face him with a little gasp of breath, like he was trying to stop himself from saying the first thing that came to his head even though he hadn’t thought anything. He released the breath and shrugged again.

“We just… We really need to talk.” Mickey finally replied firmly. Ian nodded and looked like he was about to reach for Mickey when the door opened. This time, the guard didn’t hang around to give them orders, assuming they knew what to do. Ian held back as Mickey marched to the door. He turned back to face him in confusion for a moment before he remembered that Ian had to wait for his meds.

“Want me to uh--?” Ian shook his head and gestured for him to go. When Mickey didn’t Ian furrowed his brow. 

“If you want to watch me take them after breakfast you can… I’m not going to dump them or anything.” Mickey almost felt bad that Ian offered but with Ian’s history of dumping his meds it was actually really comforting. He didn’t want Ian to feel like Mickey was doing the prison equivalent of counting his pills but… if Ian offered, right?

He backtracked into the cell and stood on the opposite side as they waited for the nurse. It was an awkward silence that neither of them knew how to fill and Ian seemed really down about it, biting his lip and trying not to look like he was fighting for words. Mickey wished he could relieve that tension for him but didn’t have any clue as to how. He was suffocated by the need to comfort and throttle him. Mickey finally just stuck his head out the door and saw the nurse guy all the way at the end taking his sweet-ass time and crossed to the toilet to relieve himself. Ian just stared straight ahead until Mickey tucked himself away and flushed. Ian had to shift over to let Mickey wash his hands which forced them to close quarters. Neither of them backed away even after Mickey’s hands were dry. They just watched each other warily.

“Are we going to be okay?” Ian finally whispered. Mickey fought his instinct to say  _ yeah, we’re fine.  _ Because… they weren’t.

“I want to work on it,” Mickey finally replied after a moment. “Do you?” Ian nodded. Mickey nodded in return and they again just stood close, absorbing each other’s warmth in the cold cell. That cocoon from last night seemed to envelop around them now. Was that warm shell always there or was this new? Mickey remembered it in the van when they were in reunion mode again… how he felt so warm and solid and safe in Ian’s arms, so protective as he wrapped his arms around him too… How they were in a bubble where no one could touch them so long as they were joined as he flipped Ian over…

“Gallagher!” The nurse called as he approached the door, snapping both of them out of their trance. Ian turned to face the guy and accepted his cup with a quiet “thanks.” Once his pills were securely placed on the sink, he raised his brows at Mickey like  _ you ready to go? _ Mickey led the way down to breakfast. They gathered their trays in silence and found a pair of seats where they could sit side by side. Though Mickey really didn’t want to give the impression that they were all good he definitely let his outer thigh brush Ian’s once they’d sat down… simply unable to help himself.

Breakfast was hardly breakfast but it was arguably the most edible food in this place. Even still, Ian glared at the barely toasted bread and margarine, box of fake fruit juice, and sausage that likely wasn’t real sausage. Ian repressed a sigh as he picked up his fork to poke at the sausage-shaped stuff and Mickey suppressed a laugh.. Marcus didn't join them this time, opting to sit with a table of burly guys this time who kept eyes locked on the couple. Mickey pointedly ignored the stares though and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ian sizing them up.

“When we're out here, we're cellmates and that's as far as our relationship goes,” Mickey murmured without looking at Ian. “We're good friends at most. Remember what I said about propositions in Juvie? It's not exactly the same thing but it's still not a good idea to be obvious.” Ian remained mostly still, picking at his bread.

“I mean... People here already know who I am so is there any point in hiding it?”

“You don't want anyone using our relationship against us—it's not even that we're gay. We're in a small block so things get boring around here. People look for excuses to start fights just to fuck with other people because they can. Some of the guys in here are lifers so they don't have a whole lot to lose.” Ian sighed in acknowledgement. Mickey raised the box of juice to his lips and took a resentful sip and Ian finally took a mouthful of “toast.” It barely even crunched against his teeth and looked wholly unsatisfying. He could see Ian’s eyes roll behind closed lids as he chewed mournfully.

“Should probably keep the ‘Gay Jesus’ bullshit as lowkey as possible. For right now the guys just want to laugh at you for it… best to keep it that way.” Ian nodded but clearly was unhappy about it. They ate the rest of their food in quiet… didn’t exactly take long… and Mickey finally broke the silence that was just starting to get weird. “We get to go out to the yard today so at least you get to go outside again. Didn’t even have to wait 24 hours.” Mickey said, shoving Ian playfully.

“Luuucky me.” Ian replied sarcastically. Mickey shrugged and grinned. “It’s going to be so boring in here without being able to work.” Mickey rolled his eyes and shrugged again to show that yes, yes it was boring. He gave Ian a meaningful look, though, trying to convey through his eyes that it was going to be better for them both this time because they were together. They still had shit to work out, but Mickey knew they would. That was why he was okay switching gears like this. He knew everything would work out so when they were out here he could just enjoy having Ian back and while they were in their cell they would deal with their shit.

“Need to try tracking down some lube today…” Mickey grumbled under his breath. Ian grimaced.

“Sorry, man…” Mickey rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Just gotta get some before going at it again,” Mickey said easily with a shrug. Ian furrowed his brow.

“You can get some here?”

“You made it sound like you had some last time you were in so I assumed  _ you _ knew how to get it.”

“Well, in that other block sure, but there were more guys and it wasn’t exactly high security...” Mickey laughed.

“We ain't either. Besides, there are expert smugglers everywhere. Just gotta know where to find them.”

“Gonna raise any flags?” Mickey shook his head.

“Shouldn't. Guys ask for condoms all the time, slick shouldn't be any weirder though I don’t guess anyone in here has asked before.” Ian nodded then narrowed his eyes. Mickey followed Ian's line of sight to see him locking eyes with one of the burly guys Mickey hadn't learned the name of yet. “Quit staring, moron, you wanna fuckin start something? There ain't much I can do for you if all his friends jump in.”

“He keeps staring at  _ you _ ,” Ian replied irritatedly.

“ _ Me _ ?”  _ The fuck he was!  _ But he glanced at the guy for a brief second all the same. He couldn't tell who the guy was staring at.. Maybe both of them. Yeah... they needed to play their shit cool if they were already drawing attention. “Whatever, let's go get your meds.” Mickey breezed under his breath, standing up with his tray to dump it. Ian followed suit and Mickey started musing to himself if it was better or worse for 'Gay Jesus' looked like he was his bitch. He'd never felt the need to watch after someone in here before so this was a new scenario for him, and one he'd never foreseen before. Plus the fact that Ian was a high-profile case (and he was too, really) put a different spin on things that was outside Mickey's experience.

_ Fuck! How to play this? _

They climbed up to their cell and Mickey discretely watched Ian take his pills though he was so open about it that Mickey suspected Ian made it easy for him to make it look discrete. He wouldn't do this forever it just... made him feel better to know that Ian was taking them of his own accord and without a fight. He'd never gotten to see Ian do that so he didn't know what it was like yet. He trashed the little cup his meds were in and turned to fully face Mickey.

“How long til yard time?” He asked. Mickey crouched to get an eye at the clock on the wall downstairs.

“Not for a few hours. They start rotation at around noon.” Ian got an anxious look on his face from that.

“Okay... So what do you want to do until then?” Mickey's stomach fluttered a bit with anxiety too. At the awkward silence Ian looked like he was ready to babble. “I mean... Are we allowed to stay up here so we can talk? Will anyone bother us?”

“You’re ready to talk  _ now _ ?” Ian swallowed at what Mickey guessed was an anxious lump in his throat... the same one Mickey was fighting the urge to swallow against as well.

“Better now than just having it hover…” Ian replied nervously. Mickey nodded slowly and rolled into his bunk, legs outstretched in front of him. Ian followed suit with the opposite side. He placed his feet on either side of Mickey’s legs and leaned against the wall, then waited patiently for Mickey to speak.

“I dont know what to say…” Mickey finally admitted, rubbing at his upper lip nervously. Ian rubbed at the pants of his uniform in a similar gesture.

“Well you had plenty to say last night…” Ian grumbled. And just like that Mickey’s irritation flamed up. He furrowed his brow and stared hard at this…  _ fucking asshole  _ of a lover.

“What, because I’m not just taking this shit anymore?” Ian sighed, closed his eyes, and rest his head back against the wall.

“It’s just a pretty big difference between last night and this morning, okay? Kinda got mixed signals from that.” Ian reasoned gently. Mickey rest back against the wall and forced himself to calm down. Yeah… He could see how his different reactions to Ian would be confusing as fuck. That was fair. After a beat Ian suggested, “why don’t you tell me what you’re upset about and we’ll address that and go from there.” Mickey laughed without humor. It was rude and he knew it but,  _ not fucking sorry _ , as reasonable as that suggestion was it was also fucking ridiculous because... Where the fuck to start?

“Okay… Okay, I got it.” Mickey crossed his legs and sat up, leaning closer to Ian’s bubble. Ian didn’t move, his attention remained securely on Mickey’s face--ready to receive. “How about what the  _ fuck  _ you were doing the year that I was locked away in this shit hole and you didn’t bother to fucking visit me.” Ian clenched his eyes shut in clear shame.

“I already told you--”

“Too fucking hard? Are you fucking kidding me with that shit?” Mickey seethed. Ian flinched. “You want to know what was  _ hard Ian?  _ Being in  _ here  _ not knowing where the fuck we stand, not knowing if I was ever going to see you again, not knowing… where the  _ fuck  _ I went wrong? Not knowing why the fuck you left me  _ alone  _ in here!” Ian looked like he wanted desperately to interrupt but was allowing Mickey to get it all out. Mickey stopped though, wanting to hear what Ian had to say now.

“I’m sorry, Mickey.” He replied meekly. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“No, you’re not getting off that easily, you tell me what the fuck happened!” It was a struggle to keep his voice down because he didn’t want to attract the attention of the guards.

“I… I didn’t want to take the meds. I really didn’t… And Fiona gave me an ultimatum, either I take them or I go back to the hospital to get them back in my system and I knew that if I had to be committed that I wouldn’t get out of there until  _ they  _ wanted me out and… God knows how long that would be, you know? So… So I started taking them and seeing you there those couple of visits was just… it was so fucking hard because it felt like my fault and I couldn’t live with the guilt so… so I convinced myself that you got yourself into that position and it made it easier for me to just say ‘fuck that part of my life, it’s over’ than it was to face you.” Ian couldn’t look him in the eye the whole time he admitted this, shame coloring his face pink. “I… I left you alone in here, alright, and nothing can make up for that. I’m just so  _ so  _ sorry, Mick.” Mickey nodded and yet he still wasn’t done.

“Then, I gave you chance after chance to tell me goodbye. To tell me that you were done. I asked you  _ each fucking time we met up _ \--”

“I had every intention of going! I really did! It wasn’t until we were _there_ at the border that I realized I couldn’t go, I swear. I didn’t mean to drag you along. I really did mean that apology, I really did and I still do.” Mickey bit his lip resentfully. “Mick you don’t think I’m going to leave you alone after this do you?” He didn’t feel the “again” was necessary.   
“I didn’t think you were going to leave me alone the first time or at the Mexican fucking border either but--”  
  
“I would’ve gotten us killed! I thought I was doing what was best for both of us!” Ian cried drawing his legs in to match Mickey’s position.  
  
“Yeah, your ‘got my shit together’ brain realized it would be a stupid idea to come with me and you let me cross the border alone after spending three days thinking we were getting a new start!”  
  
Ian froze before him, so lost of what he could possibly say next. He stuttered a little bit before Mickey cut in again.  
  
“You really had your shit together, huh?” Mickey spit.   
  
“At the time, yeah!” Ian replied desperately.  
  
“For four more fucking _months_! You’ve spent the past year unmedicated, Ian! I was gone and… And I thought you were okay with a fuckin boyfriend and on your meds and building up your stupid savings account again with your fuckin job and--and that almost made escaping worth it. It almost made going to Mexico alone worth it because I knew you were okay and we got to spend a few days living like old times. Who gives a flying fuck what happens to me so long as you’re okay?”  
  
“I do! What were you doing joining a fucking Mexican cartel? You know how dangerous that is for a white American guy? Especially someone from the Ukrainian mob?” His tone shifted, anger taking over the former desperation.  
  
“That’s why they took me on! I had family trade secrets and when those worked they hired me on full-time. Turns out Damon was connected to this guy too so me knowin him didn’t hurt.” Ian’s eyes popped open with his mouth which opened and closed as he fought for words.  
  
“The guy we abandoned in a fuckin parking lot where he probably got _picked_ _up_? Are you fuckin kidding me? You used Damon’s name to get in with a cartel and then turned on them? Mickey…” Ian’s face suddenly lost all signs of anger as fear, raw fear took over. Mickey would have been touched by the concern if not for his raw anger and resentment.   
  
“At least I never forgot who the fuck I am. You? With this ‘Gay Jesus’ fuckin ‘Queer Messiah’ bullshit? Where the fuck did that come from?” Ian flushed in embarrassment and sank back against the wall again.  
  
“I went head-to-head with a homophobic preacher and some people started following me after. I didn’t choose it.”  
  
“Well you didn’t fuckin fight it!” Mickey snapped. Ian sighed.  
  
“That’s what the therapist guy here said.” Mickey’s brows shot up like saying ‘Well, there ya go, asshole.’ Ian didn’t say anything after that and just watched as Mickey ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.   
  
“Christ, Ian, you were supposed to be okay! You were supposed to go home and get your superhero kicks from savings people with your proper fuckin job. You were supposed to go on like you did before, you were--”  
  
“I’m sorry!” Ian erupted desperately. They sat facing each other in silence, eyes drilling into each other’s, both slightly panting and waited for a guard to come running or for the other one to speak first. The tension slowly eased from Mickey’s face, the anger draining from his eyes. “I’m sorry…” Ian repeated in a choked whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to stay on that shit when you know it’s holding you back from the high of your life and you don’t even need drugs for it. You just feel so good and strong and capable and when the only reason you’re on this shit is to make life easier for the people around you, when this crap makes you feel like you’re underwater half the time, it’s really, really hard to fight the urge to say ‘fuck it.’ Especially when no one around you seems to care about how you’re feeling one way or the other. I just… I missed you and I was sick of feeling nothing, I--”  


Mickey surged forward and wrapped his arms around Ian, dragging his face to his neck. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, his fists clutching  his uniform to desperately hold on as he finally sobbed.

“Okay…” Mickey sighed over Ian’s shoulder. “Okay…” Ian nodded though Mickey wasn’t entirely sure what he was nodding at. He held Ian for as long as he felt he could but did eventually have to break away, cautious of the fact that their door was open and inmates were able to wander.

Mickey sat closer to Ian but kept enough distance so it didn’t look like lovers patching up after an argument but cellmates getting to know each other.

“The Gay Jesus crap is over?” Ian rolled his eyes and laughed without humor as he nodded and wiped his eyes. 

“I really don’t know how I can make it up to you, leaving you alone like that…”

“I don’t know if you can,” Mickey admitted solemnly. Ian closed his eyes and nodded. Mickey exhaled harshly. “I just need time, okay? To get over it… to trust you again.” Ian nodded, sniffling and wiping his nose pathetically. Mickey’s heart broke for him but he still knew this wasn’t the end of this discussion. There was too much between them right now and one confrontation was not enough to patch it up.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve both changed a lot in the past few years…” Ian remained still but was clearly listening as he stared straight ahead over his knees which he had drawn to his chest. “So… let’s get to know each other again--catch up and give all of the details of what we missed.” Ian looked wary at that suggestion but didn’t fight him, eventually nodding. Ian sat sniffling for a little bit and Mickey let him gather his pride--it was really hard to hold on to your dignity when you were sniffing back snot and wiping your tears. Luckily very few inmates walked by and those that did hardly looked in if at all.

“Who’s first?” Ian asked confidently.


	3. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's story time! What was Mickey up to his first few days in Mexico... and how does he react to Ian's first few months back home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit short, y'all. I've got some ideas circling my head and I want to make sure I introduce everything at the right time and in the right way. Let me know if you have any thoughts on what's going on, any questions, or anything you want to see! :)

That fucking bastard! _Mickey knew it was all too good to be true--that Ian would flake. And here he’d just told him that he’d had his back more than his family? … Well… It was still true but now he saw that that wasn’t exactly saying much._

_Which made Mickey feel even more alone in the stolen Subaru by himself driving through the something-Mexican-spelled desert._

_He’d ditched the bullshit disguise about thirty miles into the country. He knew it was risky but he couldn’t bear how hot the long sleeves and wig were and those stupid clip-on earrings were giving him a headache._

_Though… that may have been in part from the crying…_

Ugh! _Damn him, the tears started almost immediately after crossing the border. His heart had shattered in his chest as he drove past the security check, eyes locked on the blur of the redhead in the rearview as Mickey drove on. He didn’t tear his eyes away until Ian had completely disappeared from sight in the mirror._

_He’d cried for an embarrassing number of miles before finally snapping out of it, veering off the road and changing his clothes in a big ditch._

_That was yesterday._

_Today, he was deep into the country, he couldn’t even tell how far because he had taken so many random turns he couldn’t tell at this point which coast he was closest to._

_He did finally have to stop for gas, though._

_He parked at a pump, grabbed a spare shirt, and slid into the bathroom out back. He hadn’t showered in three days and even if he was once the dirtiest white boy in America, this kind of dirty was as much emotional as physical--the sting of rejection lingered on his skin, the sweat from the Southern desert heat trapping it, making it so that even if he wanted to shake Ian off… he couldn’t. He was under his skin… What the fuck could he do?_

_Stripping off his used tee-shirt, Mickey wet the material to wash off the stickiness from his face and chest. The cool water soothed the slight sunburn already reddening the sides of his forearms from where they had remained locked in place at ten-and-two for the past several hours as he fought the urge to punch the windshield in. And the desire to punch the windshield in was only a cover for wanting to avoid breaking down in another fit of tears. He needed at least one break down to let it all out… but he couldn’t do it here. He would need to be 100% alone when he let it go. He rubbed his eyes roughly with the tips of his fingers, so hard that red exploded in his vision like a kaleidoscope._

_The mirror was so dingy in the gas station bathroom that he couldn’t really see his appearance anyway so he didn’t bother making himself presentable. He pulled on the fresh tee-shirt once he was dry and wrung out the dirty, wet one. Drawing out two twenties from Ian’s stack he buried deep in the front pocket of his jeans, he exited the bathroom to buy his gas and get the fuck on._

_The guy spoke barely any English and Mickey’s Spanish was escaping him with everything going on but he still managed to slowly remember enough to get the guy to understand he hadn’t exchanged for Pesos yet, and would he please accept the dollars? The guy looked hesitant, probably being ripped off a time or two and so wary of accepting USD currency from a stranger speaking broken Spanish. Mickey didn’t push, though, just waited for the guy to accept._

_Forty bucks wouldn’t even fill up the tank… Mother_ fucker!  _At this rate Mickey was going to have to find a comfortable spot and ditch the car because this fucker was going to drain all of the money he had at this rate… Which… he probably needed to do it anyway because it was no doubt reported stolen by now and it’s kind of a miracle he passed through the border without being flagged by that_ alone.

_Exiting the store, Mickey immediately noticed two things simultaneously: Two 80s muscle cars parked off to the right of the pumps and aa sloppy exchange of what looked like coke and a small roll of what looked like Mexican money._

_Mickey scoffed through his nose as the dealer dropped the baggie and scrambled for the cash as the other guy dove for the drugs. The dealer’s second watched Mickey warily from the driver’s seat as he popped open the door to the gas tank to fill up._

_The guys in the deal were scrambling all over each other trying to ensure the one didn’t screw over the other. Mickey set the lock on the pump and leaned against the rear-driver’s side door, watching the amateur shit-show of a drug deal, trying not to laugh. The second stepped out of the car and stared intently at Mickey. He didn’t back down but was definitely glad he didn’t laugh._

_“Ey!” The guy called. Mickey didn’t flinch. The fumbling idiots finally gathered their respective items in the transaction. Druggie took off but wannabe dealer stood still and glared._

_“Hey!” Mickey shouted back, withdrawing an eyeroll that naturally wanted to pass._

_“Whatcha lookin’ at,_ gringo _?” The guy called in Spanish, his hand sneaking to the back of his jeans--likely for a gun._

 _“A real shit-show of a deal, what of it?” Mickey called back in English. His vocabulary was too limited right now to say it confidently and saying it in English limited what any eavesdroppers would be likely to understand--not that there was anyone around_ to _eavesdrop. The guy pulled his gun and though Mickey didn’t visibly flinch, he was prepared to duck into the car for his own weapon if he needed to--_ note to self, gun on person at all times.

_“Relax,” Mickey called out in Spanish. “I’m no snitch.” That much he could also say in Spanish. Damon had taught him mostly smack-talk and he picked up some other things. He likely fucked up the grammar but the guy got it._

_Both guys got into the car as smoothly as they could but Mickey could see the wannabe (a trainee, Mickey finally guessed) vibrating with anxiety. The second (trainer, evidently), however, was genuinely cool as he trapped the gun on the dash where it was within easy reach but far enough away that Mickey knew_ he _was out of danger. The guy barely waited long enough for his trainee to close the door before driving away with a screech of tires._

_….._

“After that I just kept moving south... Nothing really exciting happened, I just used the money you gave me as little as possible, lifting what I could.”

“How long before you started working for a cartel?”

“That took a few months.”

“A few months... So you worked with them for almost a year?” Mickey nodded. “ I saw more of those dumbass drug-deals and realized I was heading into cartel territory and no matter how many turns I made I kept seein’ them. I thought it was weird because I figured most of the cartels were by the border.” Mickey stopped suddenly, deciding he had shared enough for now.

“I guess... I guess I can fill in what I was doing during that time?” Ian suggested after a long silence, picking up that Mickey was done for now. Mickey shrugged in acceptance.

“Okay... Well, like I said, right after I got home I found out Monica died and not long after that I learned that she left meth behind for us as inheritance.” Mickey's brows shot up. Ian started laughing at how ridiculous it was. “I swear to God! I can’t make that shit up!”

“She wanted to turn you into a family of face scratchers?” Mickey scoffed in disgust. He had never met the bitch, but between all of the nights Ian had cried to him about her neglect and the fact that apparently his visit with her had convinced him that it was time to break up with Mickey, he had developed a really ugly image of her. Ian laughed again and rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure she wanted us to sell it and that's what we did.” Mickey furrowed his brow. Mickey had always been uncomfortable with having Ian around drugs... it's why Iggy continued Terry's drug and gun dealing business alone and Mickey went to scams. Knowing that Ian went to selling drugs just after he said he had his life together...

“‘This isn't me anymore’?” Mickey grimaced.

“In my defense, I had intended on keeping with the straight and narrow... When I got home... they'd nearly killed each other over what to do with the meth and since I'd given you my savings I thought this would be the quick way to get it back and… Keep going.” Mickey didn't look comforted because the hidden meaning was that Ian wanted to proceed as though nothing had ever happened. As though that half a week together had never happened. Ian had prepared to forget him. He wasn’t going to call him on it… but it hurt. Ian pressed on to avoid that look of judgement, “For the first couple of months I just worked and... Well, I didn't want to be alone so... I tried to get back together with my ex.” Mickey averted his eyes, cheeks lightly flushed. He didn't want to hear this part. “I'll spare you…” Ian whispered, clearly uncomfortable with this part of the story, “but... I thought you needed to know that part.”

“Know what, that you went from my ass to his, to mine, then back to his?” Ian winced, and at that look, Mickey decided _fuck it_ , he _would_ call him out on that hidden meaning! “Know that you were gonna go back to your little comfy life without me, forget about me, pretend that nothing happened? Just… forget _everything_ and move on like nothin even fucking _happened_?!” Ian winced again and bit his lip as he dropped his head in obvious shame. Good.

“I just didn't want you to think I was hiding anything or holding anything back.” Ian finally mumbled. Mickey rolled his eyes resentfully but didn't fight the logic.

“It work?"

“No. We hooked up a couple times but he just... he wasn't right.” Mickey still didn't look comforted.

“Other than that I just worked... although we did have a run-in with Monica's dealer when he tried to take the meth back...” Mickey's eyes exploded on his face. Ian gave him a wry look in return. “Yeah... almost drowned Carl in the hot tub he got with the money. Ended up letting the guy have the hot tub and I basically had to give him all of my money.”

“Basically?”

“Well... I spent a little of it...” Mickey arched a brow, clearly wondering why he was being so hesitant.

“I uh... You're probably not going to like Monica's tribute tattoo...”

“Okay… rewind, start from the beginning of that story,” Mickey leaned in with curiosity, but he was anything but amused or intrigued.

“Carl sold my share of the meth last and so when the dealer found us I lost pretty much all of it because I didn’t have much time to spend it. It turns out that Monica stole the meth from an old boyfriend or something… or gave Frank the information to help him steal it?” Ian considered it for a moment before shaking his head, deciding it didn’t matter, apparently. “I don’t know, either way, Carl knew where her old hideaway was and he took me there so I could take anything of hers  that I wanted. When we were looking through her stuff, the dealer happened to be there and… I guess he figured out we were Monica’s kids. He damn near killed Carl, like I said, so we gave him most of the stuff and all the left-over money to get him off our asses.” Mickey closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He was trying to be patient, he really was…

“So… I think that covers the time you gave me…” Ian mumbled awkwardly. Mickey breathed in slowly and opened his eyes on the exhale.

“You know what I want to say…” Mickey said through clenched teeth. Ian nodded. He backed his head against the wall again and stared at the sheet of metal separating their bunks, willing patience to simmer his temper down.

“I guess I should warn you… about that tattoo…” Ian’s grimace was still firmly placed when Mickey returned his glance to him.

“You said I’d not like it.” Mickey replied simply.

“It’s crazy bad, honestly.” Ian replied quickly, almost like he was already begging for forgiveness. Mickey furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I had wanted to get a tribute tattoo to Monica and..” He groaned and started unbuttoning his uniform. _That bad?_ Christ… Ian turned around, lifting his shirt to reveal…

Mickey’s disgusted grimace was as audible as visible once he saw the pair of perky tits inked on his lover’s shoulder blade… The shoulder he’d, just last night, gripped in the heat of passion. Now Mickey wanted to wash his hands… He’d probably groped her as he’d grabbed Ian… _ugh._

“What in the actual _fuck_ is that?!” Mickey finally exclaimed. Ian sighed and turned around sheepishly, lowering his shirt. Shame colored his cheeks pink.

“Yeah… When I told him it was for a woman and I didn’t know what I wanted I told him he could surprise me.” Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, laying back on his bunk so he didn’t have to look at him anymore.

“Well, mission accomplished, dumbass!” Mickey grumbled out before he could stop himself. He felt Ian shift back and lean against the wall again, likely looking beautifully exasperated. After a long, awkward silence Mickey finally had to say something else, “Who gets a tattoo without a fucking drawing or plan? And who thinks _any_ woman wants a guy in their life to have _tits_ inked _anywhere_ on them?” Ian laughed without humor.

“Yeah, I figured he’d do a flower or butterfly or something…” Mickey rolled his eyes. Ian laid his hand on the top of Mickey’s left shoe and Mickey shifted so he could see Ian over his knees. They looked at each other intently and Ian’s face relaxed when the venom faded from Mickey’s face. He sank back to the mattress and folded his arms behind his head.

“Well… I guess either o’ those’d work for a coverup now. When we’re out we’ll both get our coverups. Call it a date or shit. It’s not a dinner with utensils but…” Ian’s smile was so broad, so illuminous that Mickey didn’t even have to look at him to know he was grinning ear to ear.

“We?” The dorky redhead prompted teasingly. He leaned over a bit to get within Mickey’s field of vision. Mickey waited a while to speak, not wanting to give him the wrong impression that they were completely cool but not wanting him to think they were necessarily on thin ice, either.

“I said we got shit to work out, not that I didn’t think we could do it. Just… If you talk to me about the future, you better fucking mean it. Don’t just blow smoke up my ass while you’re here and then ghost. I definitely couldn’t take that,” the _again_ was implied. Ian was apparently so excited by that fucking ‘we’ that he was damned buoyant.

“I wanna do a lot of things to your ass but that’s not one of ‘em,” Ian smirked. Mickey rubbed at his eyes with both hands to cover the immediate smile. Damn him, Ian’s mood was always so infectious when he was playful like this. He was simultaneously mad at himself for lowering his guard so easily and relieved to joke with him like this.

“Not before we track down some kind o’ lube,” Mickey grumbled in return, trying (and failing) to hide his own playful smile. Ian groaned and stretched out beside Mickey, making Mickey shift over to the edge so they didn’t look like they were cuddling. They needed to look like they were buds shooting the shit, talking (which, this position would look weird enough but it might be survivable if someone quirked a brow at it.)

“How the fuck’re we gonna get that in here?” Ian groaned. Mickey shrugged easily.

“If people can get phones in here I’m sure we can get a small tube at a time.” Ian nodded as though saying _that’s true._

“Could probably get Debs to throw some over the fence in the yard, honestly.” Ian said completely seriously. Mickey, however, laughed.

“Debbie’d take the time out of her day to help you get off in prison?” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh at the image. Ian nodded, again, completely serious. “Well, fuck, I guess it’s worth a try. Better’n getting any of the guys in here involved.” Ian looked comforted, relieved. Ian shifted so he was laying on his side. Mickey didn’t move only for appearances should anyone walk by though it seemed like everyone was downstairs for now.

“I missed you, Mick. I know I’ve fucked up but… I really did think about you and wished I had gone with you.” Mickey shut down. He wasn’t ready to hear this.

“Well, after all that bullshit waiting for you when you got back I guess anyone would prefer laying low in Mexican alleyways,” Mickey snarked. Ian sighed and laid back again, defeated. Mickey felt a pang of guilt in his chest at her reaction so… with a sigh, he turned to face him, grabbing Ian’s attention so he didn’t miss the sincerity in his face. “I missed you too,” Mickey murmured shyly but sincerely. A shy smile spread on Ian’s face that made him look so young Mickey could almost see the first time Ian visited him in juvie flash behind his eyes. It put a matching smile on Mickey’s face.

Approaching boot-falls alerted both men to a guard’s approach so they scrambled up and away from each other. The guard didn’t enter the cube but stood at their open doorway with a clipboard.

“Commissary orders.” The guard announced. Mickey sat back but Ian leapt up and took the proffered clipboard and pen. The redhead didn’t even pause as he started filling out the form. He reviewed it then handed it back to the officer who also reviewed it.

“Big spender, eh?” Ian didn’t respond. The guard’s smug smirk faded and he turned away, calling out, “yard in 30, inmates!” Ian turned from him and smoothly sat back down in his spot. Mickey arched his brow in question.

“We won’t have to choose between playing chicken with our gag reflexes or starving now.” Ian replied easily. Mickey felt a pang of guilt.

“I can’t pick up the tab next time… I didn’t have anything left when I turned myself in.” Ian almost looked insulted.

“So? I’ve got plenty.”

“Who is going to refill your commissary if you blow it all in the first week?”

“I didn’t blow it all in the first week,” Ian rolled his eyes as he continued, “but I figured Lip would.” Mickey felt his lips twist to match the disbelief swirling inside him. “What?”

“You so sure they’re going to fill your commissary when they weren’t even going to visit Fiona when _she_ was in trouble?” Ian furrowed his brow.

“It’s my money, not theirs. And it takes five minutes every few weeks…” Ian argued slowly, irritating Mickey that Ian was handling him like he would speak to Yev at this point.

“I’m just sayin’... wait to see if they even visit you before getting your hopes up that they’ll spend their precious time fillin’ your commissary.”

Ian gave him a resentful look but didn’t fight him, either. Did that mean he saw Mickey’s point or was he just wanting to avoid an argument? Probably the latter…

A buzzer went off alerting the inmates to yard time and wordlessly, both boys exited their room.

/////

The yard was basically the same as the one he was in at the other block. Hell, it was probably the exact same one and they just moved some of the equipment around. Ian’s brain was swirling with indecipherable emotions as he followed Mickey to the weights. Neither of them were big sports guys so he figured this was where they would spend most of their yard time--unless he could convince Debbie to try slipping some lube in-between the cracks of the fence, that is. Then they would need to start walking the track so it wouldn’t tip the guards off that they were suddenly by the fence. Ian laughed to himself as he realized how fucked his priorities were but… God he’d missed Mickey, and going at it raw was stupid enough without taking into account a lack of proper lubrication. Mickey was absolutely right, they shouldn’t do it that way again. And Ian’d be damned before he used lotion on him.

Mickey prepped the bar with two 25 pound weights on either side and grinned at Ian. Ian returned the smile and they each fell into position: Mickey laying on the bench, Ian standing at the head to spot. Watching Mickey bench was honestly one of the hottest things he’d seen in a while. He couldn’t help his eyes roving over the flex of Mickey’s biceps as he spread his arms to lower the bar over his chest and the strain of that muscle as he pressed the bar into the air. Had Mickey rolled the top part of his uniform down, he’d be able to see his pectorals flexing as well and he was momentarily disappointed that he couldn’t see that. But then he remembered Mickey’s Ian Galager tattoo and realized it would probably be unwise to have his shirt off in gen pop more than necessary.

Eight reps later and Mickey’s face was starting to pink with the exertion, a light sheen of sweat beading at his hairline from the workout and the heat.

“Two more, Mick, you got two more!” Ian coached. Mickey huffed out a breath as he punched the bar into the air for the ninth rep. "One more, one more!" Ian cheered with exaggerated enthusiasm so Mickey knew he was being silly. Mickey punched out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like "dick." Ian laughed and helped Mickey guide the bar into the cradle. Mickey sat up and Ian came back around to talk to him.

"Remember lifting with those bullshit weights you found?" Ian asked, feeling the smile tug at his mouth. 

"Called 'em pussy weights cuz they were barely bigger than what yuppie white chicks speedwalk with through the park." Mickey laughed back.

"Then you called the better ones 'real' weights!" Ian added.

"Yeah... still not exactly 140 pounds but... they worked." Mickey shrugged.

"Remember... Remember when I was completely convinced we'd move out of south side and find a place with enough space to have a weight room?" Ian was nervous to bring this memory up because he was manic at the time, but it was one of the lighter parts of his mania so he liked it. Mickey nodded, not looking at him for a moment. When he did turn his attention to Ian he looked happy at the memory. Ian could still see the house he would have bet his soul that they would have; white walls and curtains, a comfortable sofa, Mickey and baby Yevy with him... and just the knowledge that they didn't have to have three armories or safes to conceal drugs... the knowledge that Yevy had a playroom with copious amounts of toys and arts-and-crafts materials, Ian and Mickey had their own room and aforementioned weight room, Svetlana even had her own room adjacent to Yevy's so she could have some private time with whoever was in her life. Even though he figured Yevy and Svetlana were permanently out of the picture, Ian still wanted this image.  _So fucking badly_ he wanted that image to come to life.

"Yeah," Mickey finally murmured reverently. "No one could convince you that you weren't getting that house." Mickey stood up to let Ian lay back. "140 good?" He asked. Ian nodded as he gripped the bar. Mickey covered his hands with his in a soft gesture to let him know that he was there to spot. The touch was so gentle but was entirely too brief. Ian almost groaned at the flighting intimacy.

"I guess we'll never get that house now, huh?" Ian grunted after the second rep. He couldn't see Mickey's face and he didn't reply. Ian decided to drop it, though. Knowing Mickey, he'd mention it later tonight after he'd thought through his answer for a long time.

Just to show off, Ian did two extra reps. That was what they had always done--friendly competition. It was... It was the friendship part of their relationship. It was the sort of companionship Ian had always searched for in his other relationships but never found. The sex was fine with Caleb and Trevor but... they got offended too easily, got scared too easily. Mickey loved a challenge and could laugh off literally any joke Ian tossed his way and know that they were as in love in that moment as before. He could call him an asswipe and Mickey would take it like a compliment and they could shove each other and know that it was playful. It was that kind of dynamic that made the most gentle of moments between them even more impactful and was what made what others would call "lulls" just as exciting as when they had to run from cops or homophobic assholes. Mickey was Ian's best friend and... it really sucked that it took  _this_ , lifting weights in prison after three years of separation, to figure it out. He wanted to say something but knew that this was so not the place.

"Fuckin tough guy tryna one up me, huh?" Mickey grumbled as they switched spots, not even bothering to share a memory this time. Ian grinned his cocky grin.

"Technically, I believe I two-upped you." Mickey glared--and to anyone else it would look like he was trying to figure out how to wrap his intestines around a fork like a bowl of spaghetti, but Ian saw the affectionate glow in that glare, the glow that said "Okay, I see what you did there, asshole. And I'm not laughing but I love that you called that shit out." Ian's grin spread wider and he took his position at the head of the bench so Mickey could set to his reps. 

He easily surpassed Ian's record and they set to trying to beat each other until another buzzer went off to announce they had to go in. In the end, they basically tied.

"We'll put on more weight tomorrow." Mickey grumbled irritably. Ian laughed and shrugged amicably, letting Mickey be grumpy because that was just his natural state and Ian thought it was adorable as hell.

As the inmates filed into the common area, someone's hand snatched at Mickey's shoulder and he whirled around, grabbing Ian's attention, and he too rounded on the guy.

"'Ey Milkovich! I thought that was you!" The guy said excitedly. Mickey seemed to recognize the guy but he didn't return the enthusiasm which told Ian that there was history. Not beef... but history.

"Yeah... I'm back..." Mickey said simply, barely even bothering to enunciate to show how little he really cared to talk to the guy.

"Freedom wasn't good enough for you?" The guy asked. It sounded innocent enough, but there was a sharp undercurrent, a severity that was almost sinister.

"Got collared in Mexico." Mickey replied simply, turning back around.

"Huh... that sucks." The guy called so Mickey could hear. "Paolo got the good shit when you're ready, then."

"Ain't doing that shit anymore." Mickey replied firmly. The guy's eyebrows shot up for a look almost worthy of Mickey Milkovich himself.

"You... you can't just turn your back..." The guy stammered.

"Dealing with the hard shit hasn't exactly lead me anywhere I want to be, now has it?" Mickey explained slowly. The guy looked speechless.

"I guess... I guess Paolo'll understand..." Mickey whirled on the guy again and waited for the direct vicinity to clear.

"Well, I don't owe him shit and I know a bunch of trade secrets so it don't look like he's got much of a choice." Mickey murmured under his breath. The guy nodded slowly and after a long silence, walked away without another word. 

Ian exhaled a hard breath that he didn't realized he'd been holding and gulped down new air quickly.

"Fuck, Mick... what was that?" Ian demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Old business partner." Mickey replied as quietly but easily.

"Sounds like there's some ends that weren't tied..." Ian whispered anxiously. Mickey rolled his eyes, conveying how little concern he felt on the matter.

"I already got targets on my back... what's one more, right?" Ian's eyes popped out of his head.

"That's not funny."

"Wasn't a joke."

Ian was truly speechless for a long moment until he started rambling nonsense. The most coherent was something like "So you've already got enemies in here but you're going to go pissing one off? Mick... you know how this shit works!"

"Well, I stopped seeing Svetlana shortly after  _someone_ stopped seeing  _me_ and so I lost my money! Bitch stopped filling my commissary and I needed to provide for myself  _somehow._ "

"Don't you  _dare_ try to pin this on me, Mickey!" Ian whispered furiously. Mickey's eyes damn near popped out of his head.

"I'm not pinning anything on  _anyone!_ You did that on your own. Anyway, I wasn't trying to be a dick, I was explaining how he and I got involved. But it's over, I'm not doing that shit in here, not when there's a shot to get it right outside." Ian still wanted to rage because... damn him he could argue he hadn't turned anything around on him all day long... but he still did. And yet... he was putting himself in a lot of danger to shoot for a chance at a normal life with him outside and Ian was grateful. That lighter emotion only slightly dampened his panic at knowing Mickey was in danger and Mickey's cool wasn't exactly reassuring him.


	4. Restriction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ian and Mickey rediscover each other, reminiscing a time when things were simpler and talking out the darker ones, the list of people they need to watch for is growing. It's only day two but... Ian's slowly starting to realize these next two years are not going to be as simple as he'd hoped.

They’d skipped lunch from their talk before yard time  and were both ready for a shower by the time Mickey got Ian to chill out about Paolo. Mickey concealed his chest as much as possible in the shower and they were both quick, not wanting to linger too much.

Back in their cell, Ian sidled up close to Mickey to quietly ask, “you’re really not worried? Damon might have friends… o-or American rivals of your cartel who might not like you sporting  _ that,”  _ Ian gestured to the reaper on Mickey’s forearm. Mickey looked at his tattoo for a solemn moment.

“Yeah, I guess any of that could happen. Don’t you know me enough to know I’m watchin my back, though?” Ian sighed and looked out to the common area, not that he could really see it, he just needed to look somewhere else.

“Well, now you’ve got someone else watching it too. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”  Ian said gently, intimately. Mickey’s eyes softened for a moment and then lightened with humor.

“If I survived 24 years with Terry Milkovich as a father and only Iggy’s doped ass watchin my back, I think I can survive this.”

“It was a lot easier to hide something invisible like being gay than a rival gang affiliation inked directly on your fucking  _ forearm! _ ” Ian whispered fiercely. Mickey blew air out briskly through his teeth in dismissal. 

“ _ Please!  _ Do you have any idea how many gangs use a reaper for their calling card?”

“In Chicago?  _ One _ .” Mickey’s face hardened. "I had to get familiar with the gang symbols as an EMT to help cops with their reports." Mickey hung his towel on one of the three hooks they had beside the toilet and sink. Ian handed his to him and Mickey hung Ian's towel for him too. When Mickey turned around he looked like he was thinking through his words, his bottom lip sucked in, likely between his teeth, in concentration.

“I’ll be fine. We’re more at risk from acting too coupley than someone recognizing my tattoo or thinking it’s a rival group.” Ian just… He wanted to trust Mickey’s confidence but there was a nagging feeling tugging at his gut that told him Mickey was being too cool about all of this. “The ‘South Side Forever’ will probably have them thinking I’m with that group, anyway!” Mickey reassured at Ian’s stressed look. Ian shook his head, sighing deeply in worry trying to soothe his anxious stomach.

“Great. And if they do then they’re going to expect you to help them out. And you’ve already got whoever the fuck--Paolo, out for your ass.”

“It’s not my ass he’s out for. Trust me, the guy don’t even have a prison bitch, he’s as straight as they come,” Mickey teased. Ian glared to express how  _ un _ amused he was by Mickey’s joking. When Ian didn’t smile back, Mickey gave him another silly look trying so hard to lighten the mood but this was just too fucking important. Mickey was not going to reassure him with this one. They had minimum two years in this bullshit of a place and if Mickey was going to spend even a  _ week  _ of that time with someone from a rival gang… There were just too many variables, too many what-ifs for Ian’s comfort and suddenly he knew that they had to watch each other’s backs even harder than he’d originally believed. 

Ian tried with all of his might to ignore the tight feeling in his stomach that something was going to go wrong in the next two years as they descended the stairs to rejoin gen pop. They played cards in a far corner from the rest of the inmates who were playing cards or talking loudly. A fight broke out close enough to startle Ian but it was broken up quickly with both guys being escorted to their cells, the doors slamming almost simultaneously in a jarring  _ clang _ . They both tried to keep to their own world as they played different games, sharing lighter stories from the year they lived together but neither ready to brave the darker conversation they kept poking at.

Ian suddenly remembered the obstacle course they built that one summer and Mickey confessed that he used to go there all of the time while Ian was in the army, hoping that he'd been bullshitting and was actually just hiding out to keep away from Mickey. Ian confessed he never went back after their fight... It made him too sad.

After a silent moment, Ian wondered aloud why they didn't go shooting somewhere else when he lived with the Milkoviches. Mickey slammed down three cards that made Ian pick up the stack with a groan--Mickey always beat Ian at cards but the former redhead never gave up trying. After a teeny gloating smile, Mickey shrugged in response to Ian's rhetorical question. They'd spent so much time with Yevgeny and working that they hadn't really had enough time to go and build another shooting range much less hang out at it. That year in the Milkovich house was filled with impromptu wrestling matches and watching documentaries while high. They'd discovered that was a mutual interest a couple of years back and living together just gave them more time to plant roots in the sofa and have some quiet nights together when Svet needed them to watch the rugrat.

////

Mickey smiled warmly at the documentaries they'd watch together. They weren't really...  _romantic_ kinda guys... at least not in the conventional sense, but those nights they spent on the couch learning about other cultures, wars, animals... whatever they could find, really, was about as intimate as they could get in a platonic sense. They learned a lot about how each other's minds worked which meant the absolute world considering they both knew plenty about the other's body. That was why the word  _intimate_ fit so well even though the pass-time was a bit strange to some people... They truly knew each other inside and out and Mickey was just... so  _relieved_ to be getting to know Ian in that way again. Mickey decided even though he missed Ian's body with incredible longing, he'd missed his mind and his sense of humor even more.... That easy companionship... That's what they would build over the next two years and that's what would keep them going when Ian got out.

////

At four, Dr. Wexford, the counselor, entered the common area with a smooth stride. A few inmates excused themselves from their groups and more inmates came out from their cells, making their way to him. They all dragged flimsy chairs from a far corner of the room, a corner Ian hadn’t bothered to examine, he supposed, since he’d never noticed the twenty or so plastic chairs stacked on top of each other.

“Guess we’re about to find out if that group is just a suggestion or not…” Mickey muttered as he laid down a jack. Ian laid down a queen as he groaned at the thought of being forced into a therapy group. Mickey laid down an ace and Ian groaned again with an expletive but didn’t pick up the pile because he wasn’t in the mood to be a good sport. Mickey grinned at Ian’s being a sore-loser and swept the cards up to shuffle for a new round even though the game wasn’t actually done. Ian was just being a brat and they both knew it to each of their amusement. Mickey was bridge shuffling for the fifth time and was about to slap the stack down for Ian to cut when a gravelly voice called out Ian’s name.

“Gallagher!” Ian whipped his attention to Dr. Wexford who stood in the center of a circle of inmates. “Care to join us?” He added, gesturing to the group. A smile was plastered on his face… but it wasn’t a warm one… It gave Ian the jeebies.

“Well… look at that, I was right.” Ian grunted as he rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Was bound to happen eventually,” Mickey replied casually, not even breaking a smile to appreciate his own teasing. Ian glared at him in faux irritation and Mickey finally grinned as he gathered the freshly shuffled deck into one hand. Ian took a deep breath and made his way over to the group, unease crawling over his skin and raising the hairs on his arms, even the light dusting of hair on his back that he… honestly didn’t even know was there until just now.

He was more anxious than he remembered being in… a very long time. Probably since the last time he was forced to attend a group therapy session. Mickey had been at home waiting for him last time and now here he was right across the room. It should have helped him feel more secure but he knew that there wasn’t much Mickey could do for him here and so it didn’t relieve as much of his tension as he would like.

A couple of guys moved so Ian could sit near Dr. Wexford…  _ Yippee. _

Dr. Wexford smiled at him ( _ he  _ probably thought it was a warm and comforting expression but Ian thought the doc looked more like he was in pain than trying to offer a welcoming look) and he addressed the whole group as he started the session.

“Alright boys, we left off last week talking about anger and recognizing signs of anger because it seemed that was a significant influence in why many of you are here. With so many newcomers, though, I think it may be a good idea to take inventory of what we’re all here for in order to decide the most productive course of action, right?” An irrational surge of irritation coursed through Ian, a flush raising on his cheeks as he literally bit his tongue. He was going to get real tired of this prick making mandatory suggestions real quick if he did it every time he opened his mouth. Mercifully, Dr. Wexford looked at the guy on the other side of him to start.

“Jeffries. I’m in here cuz… Like Dr. Wexf’rd says, I get real angry and when I get mad like that I start swingin. I been in and out of the system my whole life and… let’s just say that’s almost always what lands me in here--Anger.” Dr. Wexford nodded appreciatively and nodded to the next guy. Neither of them stood so Ian guessed this was a pretty informal group compared to what he was used to.

“Hernandez. I’m here cuz I cracked a kid’s skull for tryna snitch. I still think the punk shouldn’ta been tryin to get in my business but… I guess I also need to learn to control my fists… See what I can do outside so I don’t do anything that gets me snitched on…”

The next guy went without waiting for Dr. Wexford’s gesture.

“Romano. I’ve been in and out of the system my whole life too… Family business. I guess I’m here to figure out how to get out of the family business and figure out what to do next with my life. I’ve never gone legit before so… I don’t really know where to start and I guess group therapy is as good a place to find out as any.”

Ian realized that everyone was kind of hinting around why they were in this specific block… He’d been told at intake that he was going to a block specifically for high-profile cases for their own protection. He figured he’d be with other mostly non-violent offenders (arson aside) or other mentally ill inmates, which, he knew wasn’t the case as soon as Mickey showed up. So basically he was surrounded by legit gangsters. 

_ Fuck. So much for Disneyland. _

Marcus spoke a few inmates down the line, the first time Ian had even noticed him there, actually. He was in there because he “don’t got nowhere to go.” That answer made Ian queasy. Why was he being  _ that  _ vague? He’d not liked this guy from the start but now… 

Oh, shit. His turn.

“Uhm… I’m Gallagher. I’m here for arson and kidnapping.” He awkwardly adjusted his position in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“Can you go a bit more in depth, Gallagher?” Dr. Wexford asked gently. This startled Ian since he hadn’t prodded into anyone else’s introduction yet… so he straightened in his chair and cleared his throat.

“Um…  I got a bit too involved in someone else’s drama and because a bunch of people wanted me to keep going… I kept going. So… basically things just got out of hand.”

Dr. Wexford nodded in satisfaction even though Ian almost felt like he had lied from how little information he actually provided. Since just about everyone else had been that vague, though, Ian wasn’t about to let the whole block know that he was bipolar.

“Okay, good. Thank you all for inviting us into your lives a bit. I noticed that the newbies kept some of the story close to the vest and, y’know I get it. You’re in a strange place and there’s a big stigma on prison so you’re trying to protect yourselves. I won’t push this time because you’re new and I’m sure you’re all feeling a bit nervous but in the coming weeks I will start to ask for more participation and a bit more vulnerability.” Ian had to hold tight to a groan trapped in his chest as well as an eyeroll. Sassing the counselor would  _ not  _ make his time here easier even though Ian could tell the guy was playing a role more than showing genuine interest in their recovery process.

All of the inmates nodded and Dr. Wexford let a heavy silence fall over everyone before resuming his speech.

“Okay, so like I was saying we were talking about  _ anger _ ,” He breathed the last word out in such a melodramatic way that Ian almost cracked a smile. “Though a few of you didn’t quite go into detail about what landed you in here, I am willing to assume that anger had something to do with it so hopefully everyone will have something to learn from today’s discussion. Last week we were going in a circle to share how we think anger has played a role in our lives. Gallagher, you did a good job at introducing yourself and giving a bit of a taste of why you’re here but... I know you’re new but would you mind sharing? Maybe something more related to anger?” Ian shifted his glance around the group in discomfort. Like everything else with this guy Ian knew the suggestion wasn’t optional,  yet he wanted to chance talking his way out of it. Instead, he cleared his throat and prepared to talk slowly so he could think through everything he was going to say.

“I mean… I’ve had my run-in with anger before… My dad’s an alcoholic and the neighborhood nuisance, I was raised by my sister and had to start scamming and stealing at a young age to survive… It sounds like that’s just about everyone’s story here…” Dr. Wexford smiled passively.

“Well, yes, that is a common profile around here but maybe get a little more specific? Something to maybe encourage a discussion to help you work through this?” Ian swallowed awkwardly.

“Okay… I guess I’m used to taking care of people so when I heard that a kid was being forced into something I got pissed because… no one should be forced to do something they don’t want to do, you know? So… like I said a minute ago, I wasn’t thinking clearly and got carried away.” Ian remained silent and maintained eye contact with Dr. Wexford for a long time before the doc finally nodded.

“So what about your angry response would you say specifically contributed to your incarceration?” Ian blew a sharp gust of breath through barely parted lips in irritation as he thought through the events.

“I guess…. I guess my followers picked up on my anger, my passion. They saw how personally affected I was by what that kid’s parents were trying to do to him and they thought that my passion excused violent behavior and… I allowed myself to get swept up in that. So… I set fire to a van to satisfy those people and make a… very strong point. Those weren’t rational actions and I guess that’s what’s landed me here--I let a group of people who misunderstood my intentions to impact my actions.”

The doc waited for Ian to continue, but it was all Ian was willing to share at this point. He’d already said too much, really. He just knew that a lot of inmates already knew his Gay Jesus name yet he didn’t want to make it too obvious for those who hadn’t made the connection yet.

“Good!” Dr. Wexford exclaimed, a broad smile brightening his face. The other guys in the group seemed to roll their eyes but Marcus watched intently. “So over the course of your stay would you say you want to work on ways to think logically through your emotions? To react rationally to things that you consider unjust?” Ian shrugged and nodded. “Good,” Wexford said with a nod. “Did Ian’s story resonate with anyone?” He asked, addressing the group. The inmates remained silent for a long moment. “Yes, I realize no one here is incarcerated for similar reasons to Gallagher’s but has anyone here ever felt… out of control of their actions because of a question of morality or just an emotionally strenuous situation?” 

A guy three men down from Ian, Marcus’s neighbor, leaned forward in  his chair to signal he’d like to speak.

“I uh… I lost control a few months after I got outta juvie. I had things goin good for me but… This li’tle punk stole something that belonged to me and… I just snapped. I didn’t even know what I was doin until…. Well, after it happened. I really freaked out a friend who took me in and lost… my only friend in the world, really. I was never so good with people and… I had been wronged and I didn’t know what to do ‘bout it.” Ian couldn’t bear to look at the guy. Was he in here for his own protection or for the protection of others? And if the latter, then why was he somewhere with someone so dangerous who’d, Ian assumed,  _ kill  _ someone for stealing a material object?  _ Fuck… _

“So, you also need to learn how to recognize your emotions and how to keep yourself cool long enough to think logically--”

“It don’ even matter, man. I’m in here for  _ life _ it don’ matter  _ what  _ I do now! I’m just here cuz you told me I had’a.” Wexford nodded morosely and draped one leg over the other. Ian changed his own positioning so it didn’t look like he was connected to the doc in any way.

“I see… But you never know, you could be paroled, you could be moved to a minimum security block… You want to be prepared for those environments as well so your life can continue as smoothly as possible from here on out, right?” Wexford suggested. The guy sucked his teeth and sank back in his chair. Ian’s brow furrowed in sympathy. He couldn’t imagine he would feel any more cooperative if he were here for life… Especially considering he was ready to jump out of his chair as soon as Wexford ‘dismissed’ them and his sentence was just two years.

The remainder of the hour was dull and though Ian tried to listen and apply Wexford’s advice to his own situation… he couldn’t. Sure, he had a lot to be angry about and sure he could improve how he acts out his emotions but…. So can everyone! And it wasn’t anger that made him set fire to that van. It was being manic and seeking justice for a young gay teen who was about to be tortured. He’d told the judge during his plea hearing, and he still believed it, what he did had been justified even if it was excessive. What those men were trying to do was contemptible and Ian wasn’t going to apologize. He would, however, stay on his meds now that he saw just how…  _ explosive _ his mania could be. And he’d serve his two years and do what he could to prepare for life outside with Mickey. But he was  _ not  _ about to pretend that unrelated bullshit has jack to do with him when it doesn’t.

At the end of the hour, Wexford thanked everyone for their participation and encouraged them to practice control in the coming week and he would ask for an update from everyone on how they were feeling. The inmates stacked the chairs back in the corner and  got in line for dinner. Ian hung back to wait for Mickey who swaggered over with purpose.

“I thought the point of sharing was to share?” Mickey teased as they joined the line. Ian rolled his eyes and grabbed his tray.

“Yeah, tell all of my deepest and darkest thoughts to a circle of criminals who are probably even less willing to be there than  _ I  _ am, super good idea.” Ian replied sarcastically as they sat next to each other at a table. Mickey snickered at Ian’s snark.

“It’s a wise choice to keep your mouth shut, honestly,” Mickey replied as he swirled his fork experimentally in his serving of beans. 

“You’re saying that like you’re proud of me or something,” Ian laughed before swallowing a bite of (what looked like a kind of meatloaf?) whole. Mickey shrugged and shrank low to indicate he was about to lower his voice.

“You’re thinkin shit through, of course I’m proud!” Ian sucked his teeth to suppress his laughter and punched Mickey playfully in the arm.

“ _ Dick!” _ Ian sputtered.

“‘EY! Say it, don’t spray it, Gallagher!” Both boys collapsed into a fit of laughter, the first time they’d done so in public so far. They collected themselves quickly but the moment released a lot of residual tension from  before. They ate in relative silence from there and Ian flashed a look to the upstairs level when the last bite of “meat” hit his stomach like lead.

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Ian gasped and scrambled up from the table. He raced to the opposite stair he was used to taking so as to meet the nurse halfway between his cell and the next inmate.

“ _ Hey!”  _

“ _ You! Stop!” _

Next thing Ian knew, he was face first against the wall beside a cell door. A guard’s solid form pressed against Ian’s back, forcing him flush against the wall. He suddenly remembered when he was manhandled in a similar way at the hospital when he wanted  _ so desperately  _ to go home to Mickey and Yevgeny. He wanted Mickey now… But of course, even with Mickey right behind him, there was jack shit he could do about it.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin, inmate?  _ No one  _ runs.  _ Period _ ! You got me?”

“I’m--I’m sorry, I was-- I forgot my--”

“ _ Shut up _ ,” The guard hissed in his ear. As he gave the command, he pressed his shoulder even further into Ian’s back and Ian released a hiss of his own in pain. “Next time you try runnin, inmate, you get the baton and you go to solitary, you got me?” Ian nodded against the  coarse cinder-block wall. The texture was conflicting for his senses because the paint on the cinderblock  _ should  _ have made the surface smooth, yet Ian was pretty certain he’d rubbed a good stretch of skin off his cheek.  The guard eased away slowly, allowing Ian to unwind his arm from behind his back and gently press away from the wall. 

Ian turned to face the guard and bit his lip in a nervous gesture. He worked with all of his might to not face Mickey as he climbed the stairs. He couldn’t face whatever look he was giving him right now.

 

/////

 

Mickey had watched a lot of distressing things happen to Ian… He’d watched him get pounded on by his dad, watched him cry over Monica and her bullshit, seen him jump into a fist fight with the Milkovich tribe when he’d come out, watched him walk into a mental hospital, watched helpless as he got carted away by military police… watched him disappear in the rearview mirror of the stolen car as he crossed the Mexican border alone…

Watching the love of his life get shoved face first into a brick fuckin wall was just about the most gut-wrenching thing Mickey had ever witnessed. Yeah, watching him get punched in the face and seeing the dead look in his eyes from being so doped up on drugs it could tranquilize a horse were all their own horrific images that he would never be able to forget… But much like when Ian was dragged out of his house by MPs literally kicking and screaming, the worst part was this feeling of helplessness as he had absolutely no power to do anything to help. He’s  _ always  _ tried to help him… Jump on his dad’s back mid-swing and take the punches--gladly. Fight the licensed-to-kill military pricks and stare down the barrel of the officer's gun--without a second thought. But even the last time he’d felt like this… He’d at least been able to  _ try.  _ He had hoped with all of his heart that he would never,  _ ever  _ have to feel that helpless again.

This was worse. He  _ couldn’t  _ step in because he was an inmate too and stepping in would excite the other inmates and get them both into a shit-ton of trouble… More time. He was  _ not  _ in the market for earning more time.

Then, with the MPs, Ian had been crippled by his mania and then weighed down by the lithium and antipsychotics being forced into his brain. Here, Ian was handicapped by his own ignorance and impulsiveness. Mickey’d not even had the opportunity to call out to Ian to stop him from rushing up the stairs for his meds! He’d realized almost as soon as Ian had but… Ian…  _ fucking Ian  _ panicked and without  _ fucking thinking!  _ H e’d just  _ charged  _ the fuck up to get them. With the MPs they’d fought together because they had that ability. Here… they were both powerless because these assholes had power over them as inmates and no matter how badly Mickey wanted to call that bitch of a guard out for being way  _ way  _ too rough with Ian… He knew he couldn’t.

Mickey sat down with a deep breath to settle his stomach. Seeing Ian’s freshly dyed head pressed up against the crudely painted cinder-block and having absolutely no power to fight for him… No, Mickey had never felt helplessness like this.

He followed Ian’s progress up the stairs with his eyes. Ian was clearly shaken up but he was trying so,  _ so  _ hard to act like he had his act together. The nurse, mercifully, was not done with his rounds yet so Ian was able to meet him before the end of the run but… it was close. And if Ian didn’t come to collect his meds, that was it until morning. Mickey’d missed most of Ian’s experience with adjusting to his medications but from what he saw, and from the research he’d done all those years ago, he knew that a skipped dose would not be pleasant.

Ian had a brief exchange with the nurse, seeming to explain the situation to him, then accepted the meds and slowly, timidly, padded to their cell to put his meds in his usual spot. He re-emerged almost immediately after to rejoin Mickey, but he really should have taken a moment to himself to get himself together because… the kid looked shaken. Mickey wanted to chance a look around the room to see if anyone was watching but worried that might actually draw more attention… He figured Marcus’d say something to him if it was a big deal to the rest of the guys. No one seemed to be talking about it from behind him, no one laughed during or after the event so… maybe this would escape people’s active notice.

Ian resumed his spot beside him in a smooth descent into his seat. Mickey gave him a meaningful look, hoping he caught the sentiment. Ian’s slow exhale told Mickey that the look had calmed him and that made Mickey feel a little better. It wasn’t much but… He could comfort Ian after something jarring and that made him feel much better than he thought he realistically should.

Ian’s hand trembled a little as he picked up his fork again and speared into his beans. 

“You okay?” He murmured as quietly as possible. He wasn’t sure how Ian could have possibly heard him but he shrugged to show he did hear him, or at least assumed what question he would possibly ask right now.

Ian didn't eat much more after that but Mickey verbally prodded him to so the meds wouldn't make him sick. Ian did as Mickey asked but he could tell his heart wouldn't have been in it even if the food  _had_ been edible. Anxiety still coated the inside of Mickey's core but... What could he say, what could he do, to make it better? They finished eating in silence, dropped their trays off together, and climbed the stairs all without saying a word. A guard followed them to lock them in for the night and as soon as the door slammed shut and the guard walked on, Mickey scrambled to embrace Ian with a breathy " _fuck."_

Ian released a relieved sigh too as he enveloped Mickey in his arms too. Ian breathed Mickey in deeply and Mickey couldn't resist his instinctual urge to run his fingers through Ian's hair. They broke apart slowly and Mickey sharply smacked his palms against Ian's chest. 

"What the  _fuck_ did you do that for?" Mickey finally cried. Ian ran his fingers through his hair and looked over to the sink where his cup of meds sat ready. He took the two steps to the sink and quickly swallowed the pills with a big gulp of water. Mickey felt like a live-wire as he waited anxiously for Ian to speak. He rubbed at the back of his neck and rest against the opposite wall, waiting for Ian to speak. Ian splashed water on his face and finally spoke after he pat his face dry with Mickey's towel.

"I forgot where I was for a second... Forgot that I can't just jump up and run to get what I need or want... I forgot that I needed to wait for someone to dispense my meds to me instead of having them in my stuff." Mickey shook his head and Ian moved forward, looking like he was wanting to embrace him again but Mickey shook his head and nodded to the door. Count was going to start as soon as all inmates were secure in their cells, he didn't want the guards to have any more reason to look at Ian sideways. Ian seemed to understand and started to prepare for bed, unbuttoning his suit. Mickey followed and they set their folded uniforms side by side on top of the storage locker where they had placed them the previous night. Ian leaned against the side of their bunks and Mickey leaned against the sink so the guard could see them both whenever he passed by.

"God... It reminded me of when that asshole guard did the same thing to me at the hospital," Ian breathed so quietly Mickey almost didn't catch it. He whirled his attention to Ian and hot anger surged through him.

"Fucking  _what_?" Mickey demanded. Ian never went into detail about his experience at the hospital... Neither of them wanted to dwell on it when Mickey finally came around after his release. Both wanted to move on quickly and not remind themselves of the uncomfortable visit or the fact that Mickey had almost bailed. Ian's mouth quirked, the look on his face screamed "whoops" so loud he may as well have said it aloud.

"It was my first morning and the meds hadn't really kicked in yet but the sedation from Indiana had worn off. I didn't remember where I was, how I'd gotten there, why I was there, and I was so disoriented that I tried to walk out a fire exit door during breakfast. The guard standing by the door slammed me into the wall and told me to shut the fuck up or I'd be sedated again." Mickey gawked at Ian for a moment before finally sucking in a big breath and looking straight ahead just so he would stop staring at Ian. 

After a long silence, Mickey knew Ian was approximately two seconds from freaking out but he couldn't find anything to say.

"I won't do it again, I don't think I'll forget where I'm at again after that," Ian assured as though he was worried Mickey was mad at him. Mickey looked back to him, a pitiful look on his face.

"I just... I couldn't believe how fast that was. You were gone and I couldn't remind you to slow down and... Seeing him fuckin... Throw you into the wall--" Mickey exhaled sharply and looked away again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a guard walk by, and a moment later the second followed.

They both remained silent until the lights dimmed. 

"I'll try, Mick, I'll try not to make you watch something like that again," Ian whispered into the stillness. Mickey whirled on him.  _What?_

"Ian.. That's not your fault. I just... yeah, it freaked me out but don't go apologizing for shit that you didn't even do on purpose." Ian examined Mickey's eyes in the darkness and finally nodded.

"So... where were we?" Ian asked morbidly, taking his seat at the foot of Mickey's bed. Mickey bit his lip  as anxiety twisted his stomach again. Ian looked so lost and so sad... And Mickey understood that this would have probably happened no matter what but after being... fuckin manhandled like that he figured that was enough of an attack on Ian's mental stability.

"We were talkin about the documentaries we watched back in the day... And I was gonna ask what movies I missed while I was in the joint and in Mexico." He replied lightly, taking a seat next to Ian even though they usually sat on opposite sides of the bed. Ian looked at him with a confused furrow to his brow.

"No, I meant--"

"I know what you meant. And we were talkin about documentaries and other shit we're going to watch when we're out of here." Ian sat there stunned for a brief moment before smiling his goofy smile, the one that spread from ear to ear and made Mickey think of the sweet kid that used to follow him around like a puppy-dog. The kid that was willing to do anything for Mickey when they were kids. The man Ian would be again when they were out.

They spent the night with Ian telling Mickey about movies he'd watched, rating them on a scale of 1-3 (Good, Meh, and Shit), and Mickey made mental notes of the ones he was interested in since they weren't allowed pencils yet for him to actually write them down. And for once... Mickey wasn't bitter about all Ian had experienced without him. Sure, Mickey wished he'd been around to see all of these things with Ian at the time but... that's just not how it had worked out and he was here now. It was only day two but the chances of Ian sticking around this time seemed pretty high. Mickey was still on his guard, of course, but for tonight he'd let that guard down to enjoy this.

Ian started falling asleep on Mickey's bunk and he wanted so  _so_ badly to just let him stay there--it had been a year since the last time they'd slept together and Mickey missed feeling Ian's arm wrapped protectively over his waist, feeling him shifting behind him in sleep, his knee pressing deeper into the crook of Mickey's as he sank deeper and deeper into restfulness. He knew, though, that they could be separated by a spiteful or bored guard and Mickey was just not willing to take his chances.

Ian had already draped his arm across Mickey's chest as he started to fall asleep and Mickey gave himself the count of five to soak it up before shaking Ian awake.

"C'mon, man, the guards'll be around for the first check soon." Ian groaned but sat up groggily. When Ian blundered his way over to the sink to brush his teeth, Mickey followed suit. It was domestic, it was something they could do to remind Mickey that one day things would be simpler, and that things wouldn't always be hard in here. After the guys caught both of their scents, after Ian got used to how things run around here, the next few years would run on smoothly.

He hoped.

They kissed too briefly before Ian lumbered up to the top bunk and Mickey rolled into his bunk. He slept on top of the covers and remembered how it felt to have Ian's skin touching his in such a simple but intimate way. He fell asleep remembering how it felt to fall asleep with Ian's protective arm around him after he came out and had the best sleep he'd had in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Bestie (bi_bi_eli and southernfriedblondebitch) for talking through this chapter with me and helping me fill out some of my ideas. You're the best Bestie <3


	5. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Ian and Mickey are sorting through their shit, just when they decide to be open with each other about... the unpleasant stuff... Ian's fucked with AGAIN. Mickey's got a lot to put aside but of course, it's natural.

_ Between his fingers Mickey kept the small wad of pesos clenched tight. After misplacing some smaller bills a week or so back Mickey was not about to chance any more money slipping between his fingers--neither literally nor figuratively. _

_ Since that first gas station, Mickey had to abandon the car because, he realized after the third fill-up that it was sucking him dry of Ian’s cash. He eventually found an exchange machine so he wouldn’t have to chance someone recognizing him as he switched for pesos, but he only did a few hundreds at a time because the exchange rate was so ridiculous that he didn’t want to carry  _ that  _ much of the Mexican currency. Too much to misplace… as he’d unfortunately learned. Ian’s stack was always securely zipped in his backpack close enough to the surface that he could grab it in a hurry but buried far enough so that it wasn’t at risk of being yanked by a talented pick-pocket. He kept his earnings from small odd-jobs deep in his pocket and usually kept his hand close to ensure he didn’t misplace any more. The gun was always tucked into the front of his waistband under his shirt--loaded and with the safety on. _

_ After he abandoned the car, license plate still stuffed in his backpack until he felt comfortable trashing it, Mickey wandered through the streets of small towns, avoiding any signs of a major city. Every dozen miles or so he would find a porch in shambles or an old woman struggling with her laundry and Mickey would cautiously approach. So far all of the people he had approached showed no signs of recognizing him and were more than happy to offer a generous penny (or… the Mexican equivalent to that) and usually a meal or nights’ sleep inside for his trouble of fixing up a rotted out porch or hanging and folding laundry. Mickey quickly learned that this culture was of a generous and community-oriented nature. As soon as he told the people he approached (usually women) that he needed a few bucks for food and was willing to do some work for it, they were quick to offer not only payment for his work but also a bed for the night and a meal or two. It actually made him feel guilty because he hadn’t done anything yet that would warrant  _ this  _ much help, but he wasn’t exactly going to turn it down either. When he was offered a bed, he waited until his host(ess) fell asleep before falling asleep himself and though he usually slept well he usually woke up before his one-night roommate and would leave as soon as possible just in case they had planned to call an officer or already had called one. Even though he was certain no one had recognized him yet, he wasn’t willing to get too comfortable. _

_ He’d fixed this lady’s porch for her--he walked up to her as she struggled to right a fallen railing--and though this lady hadn’t offered a bed, he wasn’t particularly bothered. He was close enough to a strip of businesses that he figured he could camp out in an alley or something and he was getting so far away from the border, and maintaining enough space from hot vacation spots for Americans, that he was starting to feel less and less paranoid that everyone who looked at him was trying to figure out how they recognized him. _

_ There were hours yet before sundown, though, so Mickey decided to get lost in a crowded bar. A soccer championship was evidently in full swing so the bar was filled to capacity--and probably then some--so Mickey ordered a beer, slapped a bill on the counter, and slipped into a chair farthest to the back wall. Even though soccer had never before interested him, and it didn’t exactly tickle his fancy now, he paid close attention to the game on the TV screen; he worked through figuring out the rules as he watched, gauging penalties and scoring through the changing numbers on the screen and reactions from the men in the bar. _

_ He wanted to order a second beer but decided that it wasn’t worth pushing through the crowd or fighting to communicate with the bartender. Another beer arrived, however, mere minutes after his bottle was drained--the glass was still chilled at the bottom when the server swiped it from the table. He tried to ask what was going on since he hadn’t ordered one, didn’t have a tab, and didn’t see anyone offer to buy it for him… _

_ He meekly pulled the bottle toward him and sniffed at the rim. He wasn’t even sure what he was sniffing for… Something that didn’t smell especially like beer, he guessed… but it had the same sharp, bitter smell that always met his nose as he raised this brand to his lips. _

_ He took a hesitant sip… tossed the frothy liquid over his tongue a few times before swallowing, and waited several long moments before chancing another sip. When another score passed and he clearly wasn’t poisoned, he took a healthy swig and relaxed into the chair in his corner. _

_ He drank his drink a lot slower this time around, not wanting to invite the stranger to donate another drink to him. He watched the game until Iran beat Mexico, inciting a lot of groans and many guttural profanities that amused Mickey as a bystander with absolutely no stake in the outcome one way or the other. _

_ He left the empty, body-temperature bottle on his table and slipped out of the bar with a large group of patrons who were still boisterously bitching about the outcome of their game. _

_ He pulled out a pack of smokes from his back pocket and was lighting the end with careful concentration when he saw it: another piss-poor excuse of a drug deal. And… it was the same fucking guy as the first time! _

_ Shit. _

_ Where was his second? _

_ The end of the cigarette hadn’t lit so he simply removed the filter from his lips and scanned the bodies scattering from the bar. _

_ No tacky 80s muscle cars nearby… _

“Fuck!”  _ Mickey heard himself exclaim as sudden blackness covered his vision and several hands fought to still his flailing body. He didn’t know who exactly he was hoping would help him, but it didn’t matter anyway, his shouts were muffled by the heavy cloth over his face. _

 

Ian gasped sharply as he placed the bar back in the cradle. He lay still for several moments after Mickey stopped talking.

Mickey’d been fucking  _ kidnapped. _ Ian couldn’t believe it.

“They took me to their main hideout, they thought I was following  _ them;  _ funny since I thought  _ they  _ were tailing  _ me _ .” The prick had the fuckin balls to laugh. Nothing about this was fucking funny. Ian sat up, slouched and frozen in shock. Mickey walked around the head of the bench to enter Ian’s line of sight. Ian couldn’t breathe…

“You could’ve been  _ killed. _ ” Ian gaped. Mickey shrugged and averted his eyes. For someone who demanded Ian’s apologies and understanding, the guy couldn’t deal with Ian’s guilt. But the more he learned about Mickey’s experiences, all he’d been deprived of, everything he had to do for the sake of survival… Guilt was only the beginning of what Ian felt.

“You could’ve died and… and no one would’ve known! I would have just kept going and--”

"Hey, I’m okay, Ian.” Mickey promised gently. Ian blinked back panic, swallowing deeply to try settling his stomach. Mickey stood there awkwardly for a moment before he started picking at his nails absently, just for something to do. Ian wanted to throw his arms around Mickey; he wanted to touch him, feel his heartbeat under his fingers or cheek or lips, against his own… he just needed that tangible evidence that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him and that Mickey was  _ indeed  _ alive and well.

Ian had officially survived his first week in prison. Every day he and Mickey shared stories from time they had missed but Ian knew Mickey was avoiding talking about the worst of his experiences, dropping just bits here and there. Ian fessed up to some things of his own, describing Trevor and how their relationship had developed and subsequently fallen apart. He even told about Caleb… but didn't reveal his HIV status or the cheating. He didn't know if he ever would but he knew that now wasn't the best time to share that he had an STD scare or that he fucked a woman even though he knew he wouldn't like it. Mickey wouldn't find any of that shit the least bit amusing.

Mickey had shared some stories of how he bonded with his partner, Enrique, but just as Ian was turning green with envy Mickey laughed and promised the guy was straight. There was a shift in his eye though that told Ian there was more to this story. He didn't push though, choosing to laugh at the crappy music Mickey was forced to listen to which led to the boys dreaming about what they would listen to first when they got out. Mickey insisted the Metallica black album, straight, and Ian insisted he play some of the techno they'd come up with in the past year.

“It wasn’t bad once I got there. I mean… yeah, they thought I was some sort of spy trying to figure out trade secrets or whatever but…. Once they figured out I was on my own we kinda came to an understanding. A… you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours situation. Sometimes they even started to feel like family.” Ian clenched his eyes shut and bit down hard.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t you try to fucking  _ comfort  _ me.” Mickey sighed in exasperation. “I just… I can’t get over this feeling that I should have been with you… I should have been with you or you should have never gone and… All of these coulda, woulda, shouldas are… hard to deal with right now.” Mickey huffed in understanding. Clearly he thought about these things as well. It didn’t make Ian feel any better.

“I’m okay. It was my choice to go and it was my choice to come back.” Ian nodded, refusing to meet Mickey’s eyes even though that was all he wanted to do. It was a lame attempt at punishing himself or something… He didn’t get to feel comforted that Mickey was here safe and sound. He needed to sit there and really think about everything Mickey went through because… he fucking went through it without any help from Ian so Ian deserved to work through this maze in his mind without help, especially comfort, from Mickey.

He felt Mickey’s story as hard when Mickey first started telling him his family history with Terry and his mom and… at first Ian had been super supportive, very understanding. After a while as Mickey’s story  _ became  _ his story… he lost some of that empathy. Well… Now this was Mickey’s story and Ian had even less right to cast anything aside as he did before.

Ian was about to stand up to switch places at the bench when a familiar--increasingly irritating--voice called out to grab their attention.

“‘Ey! If you guys ain’t usin that then bump it so someone who will use it actually can!” Marcus strode up to them, all forced swagger. Ian could see a group of guys watching them from behind Marcus’s approaching form. This only increased Ian’s irritation since he saw through the “badass” facade so easily.

“We were just leavin, actually.” Mickey told him easily.

“I mean… I’mma need a spotter. You just gonna let an old buddy eat steel like that?” Mickey gave him an irritated look but it was so subtle that only Ian knew Mickey was irritated as fuck.

“Get one of your buddies to do it, we were just leavin.”

“None of ‘em wanna. I fig’red since you were already here and we haven’t  _ really  _ had the chance to catch up… maybe you’d do it.” Mickey’s eyes never left Marcus’s but a tension suddenly stiffened the muscles in his shoulders and neck, and Ian could tell there was a double meaning that Ian couldn’t catch. “C’mon Milkovich, you and your roomie need to play nice with others,” Marcus said snidely. His voice made Ian feel sick to his stomach from how slimy he sounded. Mickey turned to look at him and through his eyes told Ian there wasn’t any way to get out of this one.

“I guess I’ll just walk the track, then,” Ian suggested awkwardly. Marcus turned to face him for the first time, a sneer tilting his mouth up in one corner in a smug expression that made Ian really want to deck him.

“Yeah, you do that, Faggot Messiah.” Mickey took a threatening step to Marcus, not touching him only because they both knew what would happen if he laid hands on him in the yard. Marcus didn’t even flinch but he shrugged in apology and grinned like the whole thing was a joke and they were both being too sensitive. Maybe they were but Ian got a bad vibe off of this guy and the more interactions he and Mickey had with him… the more uneasy he felt.

Ian breathed out a slow and irritable breath through his nose, trying not to show Marcus how much he was getting to him but also wanting to convey he was on thin ice. Ian met gazes with Mickey for a brief moment and turned to walk the track.

He fought the urge not to look back and watch Mickey and Marcus interact. Mickey clearly wasn’t nervous about any sort of altercation with the guy so he trusted he wouldn’t do anything to get into trouble, but the asshole’s presence in general made Ian uneasy. As he walked the track, Ian kept his eyes on the fence, occasionally checking the guard towers to see where a weak visual spot may exist… He walked slowly so he could absorb as much as possible… but he had to keep the pace up so as not to draw attention for walking  _ too  _ slow. He would probably just have to walk multiple laps around the track but he didn’t want to stay away from Mickey longer than one lap.

As he walked the perimeter, he kept glancing at Mickey and Marcus who seemed to be discussing something as Marcus pumped the weights with ease, but he also kept an eye on the group of guys across the yard who seemed to keep an eye on the bench at all times…

Come to think of it… These were the same guys who watched him, or they’d assumed it was him, on his first day in. But… But what if it wasn’t just Ian they were watching…

How often were they watching their moves? And what the fuck for?

Why were those guys always watching Mickey? And did Mickey already know?

/////

Marcus settled on the bench and grabbed the bar right away. Mickey watched but he wouldn’t exactly say he was “spotting.”

“Been waitin to catch up, Milkovich. The year was long without you.” Mickey rolled his eyes. Marcus was finishing up his fifth rep when Mickey answered.

“Yeah well it’s been longer for me an’ Gallagher,” he lied. Marcus grunted and laughed through rep seven.

“You and ya roomie’ll have plentya time to catch up since you’ll be together every night for the rest o’ your stay…” He started to flex the bar backwards and Mickey helped to guide the bar into the cradle. “Unless of course…” Marcus panted and smirked as he sat up and twisted around to face Mickey. “Unless you’re not doin much talking at night.” Mickey didn’t respond, just stared blankly at him.

“What’d you want, man?” Marcus stood to let Mickey take the bench but Mickey didn’t move.

“How do you know Gay Jesus?”

“We go back,” Mickey shrugged dismissively.

“From the hood?” Marcus guessed. Mickey nodded. “I see… you was both on the DL back  in the day, huh?” Mickey didn’t react. Marcus grinned sneakily, “C’mon Milkovich I’m just tryin to nail down our newest neighbor!”

“Then talk to him yourself. I thought you wanted to know about my vacation down south?”

“Aw, c’mon, I really did just want to catch up!” Mickey arched a brow, effectively calling bullshit.

“I pickpocketed my way through the country and by the time I got to Cancun the Americans made me so I got picked up. End of vacation.” Marcus sighed.

“I was just hopin for a sweet little love story but if you really just want this to be business--”

“I already told Garcia it’s a no. If Paolo don’ like that, that’s not my problem--I don’t owe him anything.” Marcus furrowed his brows in confusion.

“We both know that’s not how it works…”

“I’m goin straight, a’right? I’ve got a chance out there and I’m not fuckin it up. I’m not in bed with anyone else, I’m just not playing the game period.”

“Gonna be tough for you to prove that…” Marcus hinted, eyes dipping to Mickey’s forearm.

“They ain’t here and they’ve lost my number. If Paolo sniffs anything on me, fine. But I swear I ain’t doin anything.”

“He wants to expand the brand.”

“He’s got you an Garcia, his brand’s expanded plenty.”

“He wants three.”

“Then he’s gettin careless in his old age.” Mickey snapped back before he could stop himself. He only kind of regretted saying this out loud. If Marcus shared those words and Paolo got offended… Well, he wouldn’t even have time to kiss Ian goodbye. Mickey licked and bit his lip in a worried gesture. He really shouldn’t have said that… and Marcus’ look told him that was exactly what he was thinking too. “How can I convince him I’m clean?” Marcus shrugged and sucked his teeth in a remorseful ‘I don’t know’ gesture. Mickey folded his arms across his chest, trying to look calm. “Have him send me some guys who’re gonna change blocks and I’ll train ‘em before they transfer.” Marcus considered this.

“I’ll ask. And how about--” He started to turn to Ian who was eyeing the fence and not-so-subtly checking out the guys on the court.

“Ian--” Mickey choked on his boyfriend’s first name and coughed as though clearing his throat, “Uh, this ain’t Gallagher’s game and he’s staying.” Marcus returned his attention to Mickey and smirked.

“Alright. No Ian--I mean, Gallagher,” he replied mockingly. Anxiety crowded Mickey’s stomach. The name wasn’t the problem… It was the intimacy of using Ian’s first name that gave them away. Not that Marcus hadn’t already known they were more than cellmates but making it more obvious sent a wave of anger at himself.

“By the way, I want a set number of guys. I ain’t doing this long-term, this is just to prove that I’m not doing shit behind his back.”

“Alright, I’ll ask him what he thinks and if he’d be willing to accept a set number. Be expecting that first guy within the week if he says yes.” Mickey nodded and at Marcus’ departure, Ian finally walked the last stretch of the track.

“Let’s go in.” Mickey snapped as soon as Ian made it to his area. Ian’s brows crumpled in confusion and maybe even a little hurt. Mickey took five steps before he realized that Ian’s footsteps weren’t behind him and turned around.

“Everything okay?” Ian asked gently, volume low in case anyone passing by decided to get nosy.

“Fine, let’s go. It’s hot as balls out here.” It really wasn’t and Ian mercifully did not call him out on it but the concerned look on his face told him Ian wanted to.

“What was all of that about?”

“Nothing. He wanted to know about my Mexican adventure.”

“It looked like it was more serious than that… And why would he be following you around if that was all he wanted?” Ian pushed. Mickey felt his temper rising a bit. He lied to himself saying it was the heat so that he wouldn’t have to face the guilt that he simply didn’t want to tell Ian the truth and he knew he was about to hurt the kid’s feelings if he kept pushing.

“Ian… Please just drop it.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on? People keep staring at you, and Marcus and Garcia won’t leave you alone--”

“Because it’s none of your business who I talk to or what I say to ‘em.” Mickey snapped. Ian’s eyes narrowed. Mickey had been prepared for Ian’s hurt but not his combatting anger.

“Mick, guys in the yard are watchin you and every time Marcus shows up it seems to be to check you out some way or other. Paolo’s guy keeps hanging around…”

“I’ve told you not to worry about it--”

“That’s not easy to do when his fuckin henchmen keep coming around and other guys keep their eyes on you all day.”

“Well don’t worry, most of these guys here already have bitches and the ones who don’t know not to fuck with me, so--”

“You said that we need to be honest with each other.” Ian interrupted passionately. Mickey literally bit his tongue and glared at Ian. The other man’s green eyes were wide, concern furrowing his brow. For some reason, and it was so stupid, but for some reason Mickey really didn’t want to admit to what he’d just offered. Shame and worry coated the inside of his stomach and admitting to Ian that he was possibly getting back into this bullshit, even if it was to protect both of their skins… he couldn’t face it. Instead of facing it, he turned and sauntered through the door to go back inside, the guard following them back in to make sure neither of them pulled anything in the hallway. Once the door slid shut behind them, they were mostly alone in the common area. Mickey turned around to face Ian, glaring up at him before filing up the stairs. He could hear Ian’s footsteps behind him, clinking up the metal stairs.

“Mick!” Ian called behind him, comfortable to do so because no one else was there but some guards. Mickey pressed on, trying to suppress his irritation before Ian backed him into a the corner of their room. He started rummaging in their storage locker for his shower stuff as soon as he entered the room, and when he turned around, Ian blocked the door, as expected.

“Mickey… Please. I’m trying to be here for you but I can’t be if you won’t tell me what’s going on--”

“It’s nothing.” Mickey interrupted impatiently.

“ _ It  _ is still an  _ it.”  _ Ian pointed out stubbornly. Mickey sighed and averted his eyes. They stood in adamant silence for a long time before Mickey’s impatience was about to boil over.

“You gonna let me go wash my pits or you gonna be breathin through your mouth tonight?” Mickey finally snarked. He knew he didn’t smell bad, neither of them had the chance to break a sweat before Marcus made his way over, but he wasn’t talking about this. Not with Ian and not ever if he could help it. The thought of Ian getting involved in this shit scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Ian rolled his eyes and pushed past him to snatch up his own shower stuff.

They were completely silent as they lined up for an escort to the showers, as they stripped, showered, and redressed. Even in their cell they kept silent until Ian snapped.

“So, we just never talking again or what?” Ian demanded. Mickey was toweling off the last of the water in his hair when Ian snapped and he looked at him incredulously through his raised arms. Pulling the towel away, he gathered all of his patience as he hung the towel.

“We talkin about something interesting?” Mickey asked sardonically, slowly turning to face Ian.

“I find the reason for half our block staring at you all the time  _ very  _ interesting,” Ian replied coldly.

“And look at that, I find it boring as fuck. How quickly we find out our interests are so different.” Mickey replied sarcastically, poking his hair into shape in the shitty mirror, pretending he couldn’t see Ian glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Just…” Ian sighed in defeat, “Just swear you’d tell me if someone had it out for you? Please?” Ian practically begged.

“You know,” Mickey replied mutely, turning away from the mirror to face Ian, “I’ve survived three stints in juvie, a year in prison,  _ and  _ a year on the run in Mexico without you--I think I can handle protective custody.”

“If you want me to prove to you that I’m sticking by you, you can’t be shutting me out!” Ian cried, flicking his towel against the ground in his frustration. Mickey paused at that and all of the fight went out of him. He turned away from Ian and climbed into his bunk, staring blankly at the underside of Ian’s bed.

Ian huffed audibly and out of Mickey’s periphery he saw Ian climb up to his own bunk. Mickey was a little impressed that they were sticking it out right now… Usually Ian would have huffed away to wait for Mickey to follow him; they would have pretended nothing happened and, both cooled off, would have returned to their routine. They weren’t walking out on each other and even though Mickey was still  _ so fucking irritated,  _ this meant progress. Even if this silence was painful, Mickey stubbornly waited Ian out. Ian settled quickly above him and it wasn’t more than twenty minutes of silence before Mickey could hear Ian’s breaths deepen into light snores.

….

At some point over the next four hours, Ian had fallen asleep and Mickey decided to work out some more. It made the shower worthless considering he sweat more from his pushups and crunches than standing outside for a little under an hour, but he wasn’t going to just lay there and listen to Ian’s snores. The former ginger woke up about a half hour before his pills came. Mickey dashed on some fresh deodorant to cover his workout and when he turned around, Ian was sitting in his bunk, legs crossed under him.

“The only way I can help you is if you talk to me, Mick. I’m not stupid, obviously someone is trying to get you into something. I just… I need you to tell me so I can watch  _ both  _ our backs like we promised to do for each other.” Mickey averted his eyes and stood in further silence. Ian exploded only a moment later. “ _ Fine!  _ Don’t trust me, don’t even give me the bare fucking  _ minimum _ amount of information I need to help you! Just.. Expect me to read your mind and see how well that goes over for  _ either  _ of us!”

“I don’t want you  _ involved at all,  _ asshole!” Mickey shouted back. Ian was about to shout back when a guard appeared in the door.

“Everything cool or do you two need a time-out from each other?” The guard asked mockingly. Ian, Mickey saw out of the corner of his eye, held his hands up in surrender. Mickey just breathed deep for the guard who nodded and moved on.

“I don’t want you involved,” Mickey repeated in defeat. “Marcus already’s got his eyes on you for bein with me, I don’t need you knowin too much.” Ian hopped off the bunk and crossed to stand before him, concern darkening his eyes.

“Who is going to know? Hell, they probably already assume I know so--” Mickey cut him off by shaking his head vehemently. “Well, if they know you won’t tell me, if they’re so sure, then what’s the harm in really telling me? I mean… what chance will I have to betray that I know anything?” Mickey searched Ian’s eager eyes and he could feel his own features softening. He really could never deny Ian anything… He was about to open his mouth to spill when he turned to see inmates filing into their cells for count.

“Later, okay?” Mickey whispered.

“Later?” Ian repeated.

“Later,” Mickey promised. Ian nodded, satisfied now. The door automatically slid shut behind them and they knew count was starting.

“So… you ever gonna tell me why Marcus has such a hard-on for you?” Ian asked shyly. Mickey sighed in irritation.

“I just told you later, didn’t I?”

“That was about whatever prison politics you got yourself wrapped up in. I’m talkin about the way he looks at you like you’re his best friend or some shit. You guys go back?” Mickey groaned. He did  _ not  _ want to get into this right now and irritation reignited up his spine.

“I’d much rather talk about what you found by the track,” Mickey redirected. Ian’s eyes narrowed.

“Not much.” He replied shortly. Mickey cursed quietly. Even if they were fighting every few days, he missed Ian like crazy. Other than a couple of handjobs and makeouts in their first week they weren’t doing much but that was mostly because Mickey was being picky, maybe even a little demanding. It was something about wanting what he couldn’t have and it drove him crazy--not in a good way. Having Ian  _ right there  _ and unable to be with him the way he wanted was torture and if they didn’t find an in soon, he was about to do something stupid--like calling in a favor with one of Paolo’s smugglers or going at it without slick again.

“I guess we’ll walk the track tomorrow, see if we can find something. If not we may have to do something a bit reckless.” Ian’s brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“The fuck do you mean ‘reckless’?”

“It’s in with the ‘later,’” Mickey replied smoothly. Ian rolled his eyes and was about to fight him on it when the door slid open. Smugness coursed through Mickey because now there was no other choice; he choked down his laugh. The wait seemed extra long this time for Ian’s meds but maybe that was because they had run out of things to say and so they were just watching each other while they waited. The cart inched forward into their line of sight but paused a second. After some hesitation, he finished pushing the cart forward and handed Ian his meds, barely even looking at either of them. Ian examined his cup and quickly turned back to face the nurse.

“Hey, wait,” Ian said gently, holding his arm out to get the guy’s attention. The nurse jumped back and put his hand on the handle of a prison-regulation piece on his hip.

“Whoa, whoa!” Mickey heard himself exclaim, as he pulled Ian back and held his other hand out to calm the guy.

“I dunno what you and your buddy’re up to but you better knock it off!” The nurse demanded.

“Buddy?” Ian wondered aloud meeting Mickey’s eyes in inquiry. Mickey shrugged but when he returned his attention to the nurse he saw the guy’s eyes returning to them from.. . what looked like the cell next to them? “I’m, I’m not up to anything… this isn’t my dose. One of my lithium tabs isn’t here,” Ian explained calmly and held the cup out for the nurse to see. The nurse rolled his eyes instead of looking and put his hands on the handle of the cart to resume his rounds.

“It’s your dose, bud, I fill ‘em by the book before I come out here.”

“Then go check your fuckin book,” Mickey snapped as the guy started to walk away. “If he says his meds’re off you  _ have  _ to give him his dose.” Mickey was incredulous at the guy’s dismissive huff. How could this guy be a nurse if he was going to let a bipolar patient go  _ without his fucking lithium? _

“I filled it right. I’m not fucking up my inventory because a psycho is tryin to pull a fast one on me.”

“Who the fuck’re you callin a psycho?” Mickey growled and started to charge forward but Ian threw his arm out and held him back. Over Ian’s shoulder Mickey called out, “If he says his meds’re wrong, they’re wrong! You can’t just--” The guy rolled his eyes and pushed forward.  _ What the fuck?!  _ Mickey pulled back from Ian to let him know he wasn’t going to do something stupid but… oh God he wanted to be stupid right then. Where the fuck did that guy get off calling Ian a psycho? Mickey was about to wind up for some ranting when he noticed Ian staring blankly into his cup.

“Ian?” Ian didn’t respond, just stared at his pills--or rather, probably, the lack of one. “Ian, it’ll be okay--”

“They can’t just  _ change  _ my ‘script can they? I mean… I haven’t seen Dr. Wexford since the last group, he can’t just--”

“Then maybe he didn’t. Maybe they changed manufacturers or some shit and the pills’ doses changed but that’s still yours?” Mickey knew he was reaching, knew that Ian wouldn’t buy it but it felt good to at least try. Ian was quiet for a long moment, examining his pills. He didn’t seem to buy it either but he finally murmured, “maybe.” From the horrified look on his face, Mickey could almost hear the  _ What the fuck is going to happen to me tonight?  _ bouncing in Ian’s brain.

“Should I… Should I ask to see the doc? Tell a guard?”

“ _ No!  _ No, Hell no!” Mickey hissed in panic. Ian’s wide eyes put a pit in Mickey’s stomach. “They’re just now leaving you alone after that stunt last week, you don’t need any new reason for them to look your way,” Mickey explained gently. Ian groaned, taking Mickey’s point. “Let’s just… get our slop and hope they changed the pills. For all we know everything’ll be fine.” Ian gingerly set his cup inside of the sink where no one could see them--clearly paranoid that someone might fuck with them more. Mickey couldn’t blame him… Anger pounded through him that this was happening, this need to protect him was near suffocating.

_ This better be a one time thing,  _ Mickey thought vengefully, but another mocking voice rang out behind the thought,  _ or what? What’ll you do Mickey? _

His stomach collapsed as he realized… nothing. Mickey could do nothing…

This being powerless in prison with Ian was getting  _ real  _ fuckin old.

////

Ian could barely swallow anything but the instant mashed potatoes which were pretty much liquid as it was.

“You can’t live on Cheese Its and Pringles tonight, man,” Mickey murmured beside him. Ian knew he was right.

“To be fair I don’t think this is of any more substance  _ than  _ snack food,” Ian mumbled back pathetically. Mickey grimaced at him and Ian worked at cutting off a piece of meat to swallow whole. Mickey didn’t look satisfied until Ian picked up a scoop of mushy vegetables.

“You know, nauseating myself with shitty food isn’t going to make tonight any easier,” Ian complained resentfully.

“Can’t exactly make it worse, either,” Mickey pointed out, shoveling in some of his own food. Ian’s swirling stomach begged to differ. Although that could be the anxiety that started choking off his air supply as soon as he heard the nurse tell him ‘tough luck.’

Tonight was going to suck and no amount of “food” or positive thinking was going to make it suck less. Knowing that he was going to feel like shit only made it worse… the anticipation of it all.

“At least we’ve got storytime to comfort Mr. Shakes,” Ian muttered with false enthusiasm.

“You don’t seriously think we’re having that conversation tonight, do you?” Mickey asked incredulously.

“You said ‘later,’” Ian reminded.

“I ain’t tellin you shit tonight!” Mickey whispered furiously.

“I’ll be too pathetic for you to yell at if we do it tonight,” Ian replied lightly. Mickey didn’t look as lighthearted. Mickey visibly deflated, actually, clearly also worried about how Ian was going to feel tonight.

“I wasn’t going to yell at you, Ian.” Mickey whispered. Ian looked away, not wanting to argue but also not believing it. “Tonight’s going to be hard enough without worrying about this,” Mickey repeated. Ian took a steadying breath and pushed away his tray.

“Reminding me isn’t exactly helping, you know.” Ian huffed impatiently. Mickey didn’t reply, he just finished off the forkful he’d already scooped up and collected his own tray. Ian followed as Mickey left to dump his tray and return to their cell.

Mickey’s walk back upstairs was brisk and agitated. When the door slammed shut behind them, Ian gazed warily at his medicine still sitting in the sink untouched.

He knew he was being ridiculous but there really was something about  _ knowing  _ his meds were fucked up that made the thought of taking them unbearable.

At the same time, though, he wouldn’t start to feel the difference until his morning dose wore off and he was running wholly on this evening’s… That’d be in a few hours. Panic solidified the contents of his stomach and chilled his skin to gooseflesh.

“Ian?” Mickey’s soft voice rang out behind him, startling him a little.

“I’m trying to convince myself this isn’t going to suck as much as I know it will,” Ian admitted. Ian turned to face him taking a deep breath. Mickey’s brows were furrowed and his bright blue eyes were dull with sadness and worry.

“Just… Go to sleep like you always do,” Mickey suggested. “You know I won’t suffer through the worst of it by myself; you’ve not earned that right yet.” Ian smiled wryly at Mickey’s attempt at humor. It was a model effort and though the joke didn’t actually make him feel better, he was glad that Mickey was here at least trying to keep him from wallowing in his despair and worry. As he started to turn around he saw Mickey’s smile fall away. Hesitantly, Ian picked up his pills and one by one, swallowed them with small sips of water. Even knowing it wasn’t there, he’d reached for the final lithium tablet. When his fingers dully collapsed against the empty paper cup, Ian bit his lip to keep a whimper from escaping. In truth, he didn’t know why he was freaking out this hard. Yeah, the side-effects would be annoying but… surely not so bad to warrant this reaction. It wasn’t like they were just  _ stopping  _ his therapy.

“It could just be a change in the pills…” Mickey reminded him. “But no matter what, you’ll be fine.” He said it like it was a vow, like he would personally ensure Ian would be fine. Ian nodded and took another steadying breath before stripping out of his uniform. Mickey followed his lead.

Ian was about to sit back on Mickey’s bunk before jumping straight up like an arrow, a thought inescapably cycling through his mind.

“What if they did, though? What if they did fuck with my meds and I have to be moved to that dorm for mentally ill people? We’ll be separated!” Mickey’s face had never looked so scared and for a second Ian thought he was scaring Mickey by the thought of being separated until he realized that he was hyperventilating and Mickey was trying to mime deep breaths, trying to get him to calm down. “We  _ can’t  _ be separated, Mick!”

Mickey shushed him, taking hold of his arms to stop him from pacing--which he hadn’t even realized he’d started doing. His iron-strong grip stilled Ian, rooting him to stand directly in front of him. Mickey’s wide blue eyes drilled up into Ian’s, conveying worry but also so much warmth and love that though Ian was still panicked at the thought of being separated, he felt at least the slightest bit safer. Someone here would know what happened to him, at least one person in his life would do what it took to ensure his safety.

“I need to give you Fiona’s number, and Lip’s, and… and Debbie’s! If something happens you need to be able to get to them!” Mickey shushed him again, drawing them closer together, one hand planting solidly on the back of his neck.

“Shhhh, Ian, you’re fine. You’re going to be  _ fine _ . And we’re  _ not  _ going to be separated.” His eyes drilled into Ian’s, the confidence in them so strong that Ian almost cast out the worry… almost.

“I… You should still have their numbers just… just in case--”

“Ian, we don’t have anything to write on or with and I’m not going to be able to memorize their numbers right now. Take a breath, sit down, and try to look stable until after count--That’s all you’ve got to do, hold on until count, okay?” Ian shook his head and suddenly realized he’d started crying at some point--Jesus Christ, his meds weren’t even fucking  _ messed up yet _ ! “Ian, Ian… Ian, look at me!” He met his lover’s eyes again and forced in a breath with Mickey. “If you freak out now they'll move you for sure!" Mickey pleaded, his eyes reflecting all of the panic Ian was feeling--which meant he was freaking Mickey out now...  _ No _ .. that wasn't what he wanted. Ian swallowed hard and sucked in deep breaths to settle himself down. His face was prickling with the pins and needles that follow intense tears. The sensation also coated his throat which made his deep breaths even more uncomfortable, but he knew he had to take them. Ian nodded slowly and turned to his bunk, climbing in to hide his puffy face from the guard that would be walking by in a few minutes. 

////

Mickey brushed his teeth fiercely, but tried to breathe deeply through the actions to settle his anxious stomach. Ian's panic attack was unsettling for Mickey. Watching Ian be in distress was never easy and he'd never seen anything like this. Prison was presenting them with a lot of firsts, it seemed.

He spit the toothpaste angrily into the sink and slammed the water on and off. He wanted to pace but that movement would flag the attention of a guard. So instead, he flopped into his bunk and slammed his eyes shut to partake in a breathing exercise. He listened to Ian's shuddering breaths and remembered how just a couple of hours ago they'd done the same thing--laying in their separate bunks, Mickey listening to Ian's sounds--and yet the exercises were completely different. He'd been angry with Ian a couple of hours ago, and now his anger was directed everywhere  _ but  _ at Ian.

"I don't know where Yevgeny is..." Ian blurted out of nowhere just before the lights clicked off. Mickey lay in silence for a long moment, confusion clouding his thoughts.

"What?"

"Svetlana married a rich guy," Ian explained into the quiet. "I don't know where they are now." Mickey's relationship with his son had always been complex at best. The kid always made him feel unnerved and he knew no one understood, but Mickey was relieved when he no longer had to be around him every day. There for a while things were getting pretty normal but even when he was babysitting his son there was always some curse or discomfort picking at the back of his mind. And Svetlana... Yeah, there was no love lost in losing  _ her  _ number.

"Good for her." Mickey finally muttered flatly. 

"What?" Ian's confused voice breathed out.

"I said good for her. She was always worried about money and now she never will." Ian stayed quiet and Mickey knew he'd upset him. Ian always wanted him to grow attached to Yev and... yeah, he loved him but... mostly because he made Ian happy. Mostly because he knew it wasn't the kid's fault that he made him uneasy.

"I just--"

"He is the last of my priorities right now, Ian. He's with Svetlana and they're with a rich guy to take care of them both, right?"  Ian didn't confirm or deny but that was an admission in itself with Ian. "They're set, alright? I don't need to be worryin about them right now when they're both probably living a better life than I could ever give 'em."

"You really don't care that you may never see him again?" Ian asked, the mattress crinkling under him as he shifted. Mickey was tired of this conversation. Why the fuck was Ian suddenly wanting to worry over people neither of them had spoken to in over a year  _ now  _ of all times?

"Well from what I've gathered you weren't exactly fighting for your chance while you had it, either!" Mickey snapped. Ian went silent and guilt filled Mickey's stomach with lead. Ian was quiet for so long Mickey was about to roll out of bed to check on him.

"So when we're out we're not going to try finding him?" His small voice asked over him. Mickey was about to bite out a impulsive "no!" but bit it back. He didn't want to crush the man's dreams but he didn't want to get his hopes up either. Chances were Svetlana was ready to start her life over and the likelihood of them finding her was probably slim.

"We're gonna have enough on our plate getting jobs and a place of our own, keeping our POs happy. We don't need to be worryin over people who're just fine." The nylon crinkled again to signal Ian's flip in his bed but Mickey wasn't prepared for Ian suddenly dropping to the floor. Mickey looked up at him in shock but moved over for Ian to roll into bed with him.

They lay there gazing at each other for a long time. Ian searched his eyes and slowly trailed over the lines of his face. The attention felt warm, affectionate. He gazed as warmly at Ian's face, tracing the line of his nose, the curve of his bottom lip, the dusting of freckles on his cheeks... Mickey slowly curled his hand to rest against the back of Ian's neck. Ian surged forward, capturing his lips in a heavy kiss. The kiss was so strong, Mickey lost his breath. Ian rolled to lay on top of him, their legs intertwining as their kisses drew them in closer together. Ian pulled back so they could catch their breaths. Ian rest his forehead against Mickey's and they both closed their eyes, feeling the moment and each other. Mickey's fingers trailed over Ian's back, Ian's fingers stroking Mickey's right cheek.

"Please tell me, whatever you're up to, that it won't give you extra time," Ian pleaded in a heavy whisper. Mickey's eyes flashed open in surprise but Ian's eyes were still closed, his face strained with worry. As he whispered his promise, he thrust a hand into Ian's hair and lowered his face into the crook of his neck for a slight hug. Ian wrapped one arm over the top of Mickey's head to hug him back, his fingers sinking into his black hair.

The other hand slowly inched from his shoulder, down his chest, and teasingly over the line of his cock through his boxers. Mickey gasped in surprise as Ian continued to play with him. He broke away from Ian, gently pushing back on his shoulder.

“Whoa, Ian… What’re you doing?” Ian immediately looked hurt.

“I’m… You haven’t so much as kissed me in four days…”

“So you think now is the right time to go straight to messin around? You were  _ just  _ freaking out about your pills--” He cut himself off as Ian rolled his eyes and flopped over to the mattress, relieving the weight off Mickey’s body. 

“It’ll distract me, won’t it?” Mickey rolled his eyes back and sat up.

“Ian, I love you, but using me for a distraction’s never really worked for you before, has it?” Ian furrowed his brows in confusion. “Nevermind,” he grumbled.

“I just miss you… Don’t you miss me too?” Ian practically whined. It took everything in Mickey not to roll his eyes again. He knew what this was now. Ian was feeling insecure and scared, and he was acting like he thought he would if the meds fucked up, as though he could already be like that by now.

“Yeah, I want you too but… not right now, okay? You need to get some rest just in case--”

“Okay well if you don’t want to fool around then why don’t you go ahead and tell me what’s up with you and Marcus?” Mickey’s eyes practically exploded out of his head at him. Was he  _ actually  _ trying to-- “Not like that. I can see there’s history with you two and it’s not just a ‘you used to run in the same circle’ thing. There’s more, I’m not stupid.” Mickey released a deep breath, closing his eyes tight as he tried to summon his patience.

“Now is  _ not  _ the right time for that talk, Ian.”

“Well this slow reveal shit is getting old. We’re dancing around the issues and we need to just get it all out on the table so we can  _ deal _ !” 

“And you think that when you’re possibly going to have a reaction to your meds is the right time?” Mickey snapped. Ian shrugged. “I said later and I meant it. Later, when you’re actually up for this conversation.” Mickey replied firmly. Ian stared at him blankly and finally sat  up on his heels and crawled out of Mickey’s bunk to pull himself into his own bed. Mickey wanted to wish him a good sleep but didn’t want to piss Ian off more. He knew it was for the best--Ian might be pissed that he wasn’t letting them have this conversation but he wasn’t risking that whatever they have to say to each other, and whatever reactions they dish out, would make whatever was about to happen that night worse.

Mickey stayed awake until he heard Ian’s gentle snores sounding from over him but was woken no more than three hours later from the bedframe trembling. Rubbing at his eyes, Mickey rolled out of his bunk, a litany of curses stringing through his head though he stayed silent. Ian was curled into the fetal position in the middle of his bunk, visibly shaking with his leg bouncing off the frame at the foot of the bed. Ian’s eyes burst open and tears filled them.

“ _ Shit  _ I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to--”

“You’re fine, man. Can you scoot over?” Mickey’s bleary voice mumbled tiredly. Ian tossed over to his other side in a flailing motion. The man had lost  _ all  _ of his grace to the shakes currently wracking his body and Mickey’s stomach seized in pity. He tried with all of his might to smoothly slide into the bunk but between his short legs and Ian’s curled form taking up half of the twin-sized mattress he couldn’t help jostling the other man a little bit. He apologized under his breath as he settled at the head of the bed, the bar of the frame digging into his back, his legs on either side of Ian’s form. Ian immediately grabbed hold of Mickey’s bare thigh and hugged it to him, his shaky form trembling against him, jostling  _ Mickey _ . Without any hesitation, Mickey reached to stroke Ian’s hair and shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m  _ so  _ sorry!” Ian cried into his skin. Mickey shushed him gently and continued stroking his hair. “No, no, I am  _ so  _ sorry; I keep dragging you into this bullshit and--”

“It’s not your fault. You’re taking the meds they give you and that’s all you can do right now,” Mickey replied over the last of Ian’s argument. Another tremor wracked through Ian’s core and he seemed to gag against Mickey’s leg. “Nauseous?” He asked, feeling Ian’s forehead with the back of his hand. He felt fine but obviously Ian would disagree. “What’s going on? Talk to me…” Ian released a shuddered breath as he seemed to gather his feelings.

“The anxiety is… suffocating, nauseating. I can’t… I can’t take a full breath ‘cuz of it,” Ian blurted in several gasps. “And… And my arms won’t stop shaking!” Mickey wasn’t going to be the one to inform him that his arms weren’t the only parts of him…

“Okay… Are you thinkin about anything?” Mickey asked quietly, calmly. Ian shook his head so violently that Mickey cupped his neck to keep him from straining something.

“‘S not that kinda anxiety, Mick,” Ian gritted out, sounding harsher than he probably intended.

“I know, just didn’t know if there was something you could talk out,” Mickey replied patiently. Ian laid still (by comparison) for a long moment before shaking his head and murmuring a nearly inaudible “no.”

Mickey’d never seen Ian like this before. When he was adjusting to his meds the first time, they’d given him the shit that makes him sleep. This sudden change in his routine was something he’d never experienced. Last time, he’d sat on the bed as Ian slept soundly beside him. He took that time to research bipolar, took mental notes of side effects Ian complained about so he could figure out how to make them better. 

There wasn’t shit he could do now--Nothing but hold him as he shook and tried to go back to sleep. He gave that exact advice, instructing Ian in a gentle voice to try going back to sleep. Ian groaned in return, clearly not believing in his ability to do so.

“If you get to sleep you’ll get to your next dose...” Mickey tried saying it temptingly but Ian shook his head, more gently this time.

“I’ll still feel like ass if they give me the right dose.” Mickey grimaced and ran his fingers through Ian’s hair lovingly. He had so many of these moments where he just wanted to take all of Ian’s pain or discomfort away, but it had been a while since he did feel that.

It fucking sucked.

“Can we--”

“I am  _ not  _ talking to you about that bullshit right now, Ian. No.” To Mickey’s relief he didn’t fight him anymore. Mickey let Ian adjust himself in his lap and get comfortable. “Gonna try to sleep?” Ian glanced up at him through thick red lashes and nodded uncomfortably. Mickey leaned back against the wall, the place where the metal bar of the bedframe ran against the wall dug into his back. He tried shifting around too and Ian… God, Ian passed Mickey his pillow. Mickey grinned to himself and placed the pillow behind his back where the irritating metal was digging in most. The pillow, paper thin as it was for their heads during the night, actually cushioned his back pretty well. As Ian trembled and groaned through his nausea and shakes, Mickey caressed his lover’s hair and shoulders and told him some fun stories from Mexico. How he’d trained the worst of the guys to be acceptable and those who couldn’t get with the program he insisted his boss redirect them to another part of the organization--recruitment or packaging. Though Ian clearly wasn’t thrilled with how well Mickey thrived in that environment, Ian was entertained by the stories of Mickey running from cops, outsmarting them at every turn; how he’d convinced American tourists who thought they’d spotted him that he was a college kid visiting his dad on break. Ian actually did burst out laughing at that one because Mickey still didn’t know how he’d gotten away with that considering it was nowhere near spring break, summer break, or Christmas break. Eventually, though, Ian did finally fall asleep. He still shuddered and trembled but he was finally sleeping through the worst of it. When Ian’s snores deepened and Mickey knew he was dead asleep he crawled out from under him as gingerly as possible. In his sleep, Ian reached for his departing form and his brows furrowed in disappointment, but he was still asleep. He stroked Ian’s forehead with his palm to relax the expression and, to his shock, it worked. Ian looked at peace again, his hand dangling off the end of his bunk as though waiting for Mickey to take his hand.

Mickey didn’t take his hand, though. He rolled into his own bunk and fell asleep dreaming of the day they could finally sleep in the same bed without being punished in some way for it.

…

The lights flashed on well before Mickey was ready but he got up immediately to get Ian up, who he knew was even less up for the day than he was.

“Ian, you’ve gotta get up to get your next dose,” Mickey whispered into his ear. Ian tossed over to face the wall with a brattish grunt. Mickey sighed, knowing he should have expected this. He turned around and pulled on his uniform, trying to remember when laundry day was so he could finally get a fresh one. He used the toilet, brushed his teeth, and did his best to act casual until first one, then the second guard walked by. The second guard had his eyes narrowed at Ian still being in bed but Mickey hadn’t responded so they guy kept going.

He exhaled sharply and turned back to Ian’s form, still curled up against the wall. Ian’s uniform in hand and feet on his bunk, Mickey propped himself on Ian’s bed to run his hand down Ian’s side again. 

“I know you’re still feeling like hell but I can’t get you your pills for you, okay? You know I would if I could.” Ian groaned again, curling into himself to indicate the soreness he probably felt all over. Mickey ran his fingertips down his spine, trying so hard to be comforting.

“I’ll get you something from the stash; you eat it, take your pills, and you can go back to sleep, okay?” Mickey suggested gently. Ian groaned again. Mickey was slowly getting frustrated but this was still an improvement over any of the times Ian was bedridden--he was at least making noises at him, acknowledging his existence.

“Get up, Ian, they’ve just finished up count, you need to get up to get your meds,” Mickey said this more strongly, using a deep voice he didn’t really like to use because it reminded him of the voice he used on Yev when he’d thrown his oatmeal across the dining room. Slowly, Ian rolled over to face Mickey; lines were deeply impressed in his skin from the sheet since Mickey’d forgotten to give Ian a replacement for his thigh when he’d left. His beautiful emerald eyes were rimmed with the red of recently released emotion even though he was sure Ian hadn’t been crying last night... Once he’d gotten to sleep he had slept hard, evidently, because a certain bleariness also crossed his gaze.

“Get your uniform on at least part way so they don’t take you to medical, man.” Ian rolled his eyes...  _ the ungrateful twit,  _ Mickey couldn’t help thinking to himself. But he got up and accepted the uniform from Mickey and inched his legs through the holes and pulled them up all of the way with a smooth drop to the floor. Well… maybe smooth was the wrong word because he did stumble, knees buckling, and Mickey did have to keep him from collapsing. “There, that’s all you need, stand by the door and try not to look anything but tired.” Ian followed his instructions but was clearly not happy about attempting the task. 

He leaned heavily against the archway of the cell door and waited groggily for his pills. While Ian waited, Mickey rummaged in their locker for food so that Ian wouldn’t have to trudge down the stairs and back again. They had nothing but absolute junk but… it was a lot better than taking that shit on an empty stomach. He pulled out two packages of Original Pringles and a small snack-size pack of Ritz crackers.

Ian had his meds in hand by the time Mickey turned around and Ian was examining them carefully.  _ Aw, fuck _ … He turned Ian around to face him and looked into the small cup, breathing out a deep sigh of relief. Three small white tablets and the antipsychotic.

“Come on, come eat and then you can take your meds and sleep it off.” Ian breathed a deep sigh of relief that was even heavier than Mickey’s.

Ian was completely silent as he slowly filled his mouth with chips and crackers. When both snacks were consumed, he didn’t even bother to get water… With the last bites of his food, he just popped all four pills in his mouth and swallowed it all down. Mickey felt his brow arch in surprise but he remained silent on what he’d witnessed. 

“You good to go to the common area or do you want to stay here?” Mickey asked. Ian grunted a “nu-huh” which Mickey assumed meant “no” to going downstairs. “Okay,” He whispered tenderly and, removing the trash from his bunk, laid Ian out on the bed and covered him with the blanket. He took a quick glance behind him and decided with the coast clear to chance a kiss on Ian’s forehead.

Ian was out in two seconds.

He wanted to stay put and run his fingers through Ian’s hair much like he did when Ian had come home from the clinic with new meds but he didn’t want to chance someone unfriendly seeing them and finding their display anything but cute.

Slowly, Mickey meandered downstairs and when a poker game opened up, he joined. Marcus and Garcia happened to be in the group and he caught their exchanged looks in his periphery as he refused to make eye-contact with them. 

Though the inmates didn’t have much to wager with, or many ways of following up on bets, some of the guys were betting snack food. Garcia was Paolo’s master smuggler, though there were others. Damn him, he was really about to ask for a bottle of lube but something stopped him. The sketchy looks they were giving each other and Mickey convinced him that asking them for that kind of a favor was the last thing he needed to do. As DL as they were trying to be before, they needed to be even lower. He did not like the amusement on their faces throughout the game… Or the way they obviously let him win one of the rounds. None of the other guys seemed to catch on, but as Mickey collected the pot, he realized Garcia and Marcus had made it so he won… In the pot, Mickey saw, was a folded up note. Instructions.


	6. Catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get this shit all out on the table because this one story at a time bullshit is not working.

_ The fat fucks were too slow for them and Mickey couldn’t help but laugh out loud as they darted through alleyways, dodging  _ la policia _ with ease. Some things were apparently universal--like fat as fuck incompetent police officers. Rique actually kept up with Mickey’s stride as they blasted through the streets. This was the ideal scenario: they sold their stash, got the money, their customer got away, and they were about to lose the cop. Of course the true ideal would be to not be caught at all, but you couldn’t always get what you wanted. _

_ “Ey, Mick _ ey _!” Rique huffed beside him. Mickey glanced at him for only a moment, long enough to see his trainee dip into an especially dark alley and followed suit. They ran to the end of the alley and ducked behind a dumpster to catch their breath. _

_ This was the fourth week of training Rique, the guy who’d followed him around and kidnapped him outside the bar. By some miracle Mickey was able to convince Parco, the leader of the  cartel, that he could train his worst men to be his best and the guy had not only taken a chance but very quickly valued Mickey has an integral part of the operation. Rique needed extra help because the kid was damn near hopeless, but over the past month Mickey got the guy to a near expert level on top of the four other guys he trained. The plan was for Mickey to train the men already out and working and then stick around to train the returners--the guys who were stupid enough to get caught and returned to the cartel from prison. _

_ They kept their breaths low and steady as they strained their ears to listen for the officers running by. Ten minutes passed and they still heard nothing. Mickey groaned lightly and rest his head back against the wall behind them. His knees started to ache and his thighs cramped from squeezing himself into the smallest shape he could manage. Rique’s face just looked bored but Mickey was sure he was also uncomfortable.  _

_ Sunlight streamed into the alley from above and Mickey could already feel the skin on his arms and the back of his neck prickling as it colored in the sun. _

_ “Awwww  _ pobrecito gringo _!” Rique chided playfully. Mickey glared and shoved him lightly. _

_ “You hear me complainin?” Mickey shot back. Rique laughed under his breath, almost hissing in his effort to keep quiet. Once his giggles subsided he took a deep, settling breath and peeked out from behind the dumpster.  _

_ “Coast is clear,  _ profesor _ ,” Rique whispered as he stood. Mickey wasn’t sure he was as confident, shifting to a crouch and watching from that position behind the dumpster for a long time. Rique inched toward the mouth of the alley and checked the streets  and turned back to nod at Mickey. _

_ Still wary, Mickey half crouched, half walked to the opening of the alley and peered around the corners before finally straightening up all of the way. He grinned in victory and he and Rique  matched an easy stride through the back alleys towards base. On the walk home Rique spoke slowly to Mickey in Spanish, teaching him more than just the smack-talking phrases he’d picked up from Garcia and Damon back up North. He was getting pretty good but there was something about speaking the language that made him feel self-conscious so he mostly focused on learning to pick up the words, especially when the guys started spitting the language out at a rapid-fire pace. In exchange, Mickey tried to teach the guys English but… it wasn’t like he’d finished high school so fuck-all he knew about teaching shit beyond guns and running drugs. The guys appreciated it anyway, though. Learning anything was better than nothing, especially when they got calls from their families living in the States who were proud of what they’d managed to pick up. _

_ Just outside the base was a little corner store where Mickey picked up his smokes and a can of beer at a time. This time though he picked up aloe vera.   _ Pobrecito gringo…

….

Though Mickey had made peace with himself last night about what he had to do, having the instructions from Paolo… Knowing that this could get him into more trouble, get him more time… Suddenly, Mickey’s mouth was painfully dry no matter how many times he refilled the beige plastic cup from upstairs. Each time he went upstairs, too, his guilt flared high from Ian’s fixed position in his bunk, curled into the fetal position, face towards him--but not in a peaceful sleep. His brow was always furrowed, his arm crossed over his stomach as though in pain… And Mickey couldn’t do shit for him.

Garcia and Marcus’ smirks stained the forefront of Mickey’s mind as he continued through his day, the handwritten instructions burning against his chest where the paper was tucked away. He knew he should limit the number of times he checked on Ian because frequent movement up and down the stairs, in and out of his cell, might look strange to the COs, but they never seemed to notice anything weird. He lightly tapped on Ian’s shoulder, gently waking him just before dinner and Ian groggily swore he would get up for his dose when the nurse walked by. 

Spending the whole day without Ian by his side was strange… A reminder of how he spent his time in here the first time, except with a smaller block of guys. It struck him that it was probably unhealthy how quickly he adapted to having Ian by his side and how lost he always felt when Ian was gone. He had to keep reminding himself throughout the day that Ian wasn’t  _ gone  _ he was just indisposed for the day… maybe two… But his mind was always on Ian as it was last time, always worried about his reaction to his meds… like last time. He yearned for Ian to be with him so he would know how he was… like last time. But at least this time he could pop up in their cell every few hours to remind himself that Ian was still there.

A guard approached him during dinner to mention Gallagher’s absence from today’s social interactions, to which Mickey had to bite his tongue because all he wanted to do was scream about how that quack of a nurse didn’t give a flying fuck about Ian’s dose to take his concern seriously and so now Ian was stuck in bed all fucking day and it was all that asshole’s fault. As it was, he just let him know that Gallagher exerted himself at yard the previous day and was taking it easy today. Marcus grinned smugly at him when the guard’s back was turned and Mickey gave him such a withering glare Marcus’ expression was quickly wiped clean.

When he looked into the distance, trying not to give anyone his attention right now, he saw yellow bottomed, white topped, black-haired Ian staggering down the stairs. He took each step one at a time and was clearly stiff from laying down all day, but he was finally up. He fought his look of relief as the emotion released all of the air in his lungs. Ian didn’t look like he was searching for Mickey and so he just sat at the nearest table, one seat left open by him. Mickey rolled his eyes and wrestled with whether or not to go over to him. He wanted to check on him more than anything but he also knew they’d gotten too relaxed over the past week and pricks like Marcus were nothing compared to the genuinely homophobic assholes in here.

He continued entertaining the stupid conversations at his table but his eye was frequently flicking over to Ian. Each time he looked at him, he was poking at his food but he never raised a forkful. He realized after a long moment that his attention had stayed on Ian for longer than a glance and by the time he returned his attention to to his table he realized he was being spoken to.

“What’s that?” He said to no one in particular.

“I said,” Delgado huffed impatiently three guys over, “When did Paolo say your first guy’d be gettin here?” Mickey restrained an eyeroll.

“Dunno. He said I’ll know the guy.” Garcia and Marcus grinned at each other which only unsettled Mickey’s stomach more. Why the fuck had he agreed to this? Mickey’d made some stupid decisions in his life but this was proving to be one of the stupidest. If he got more time added… God, Ian’d probably do something even stupider. Delgado shrugged.

“The fuck does that mean?” He wondered aloud. Mickey shrugged in return, stuffed his mouth with the last of his dinner, and got up to dump his tray. He walked by where Ian sat to purposefully ensure he saw him. Ian barely looked up and Mickey’s heart fractured in his chest. He knew it would take time for Ian to get back to “normal,” but he’d hoped by the end of the day he would be better… He shouldn’t have set his hopes up so high.

 

_ Because the operation went well, Parco gave Mickey a little bonus and asked if he could consider Rique fully-trained. Mickey’d nodded and agreed that the kid did good and was probably ready for work on his own. _

_ Rique surprised him outside the main office when Mickey left Parco. _

_ “I figured you’d have gone home,” Mickey murmured in Spanish. Rique shrugged and with a smile responded in English, “Yeah, but I wanted to know how it went.” Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’ll find out when he wants you to know.” Rique grinned mischievously. _

_ “C’mon,  _ gringo _ , what’s the difference if he tells me or if you do?” _

_ “It’s not my place?” Mickey replied easily, Rique’s insolence shocking him. _

_ Once they turned the corner Rique sped up to stand in front of Mickey and halted, making Mickey stop too. _

_ “That’s a yes, right? You put in a good word for me?” Rique guessed with a confident smirk on his face. Mickey averted his eyes, holding back another eyeroll. _

_ “I told him you weren’t as likely get his ass on the radar with your stupidity anymore,” Mickey snarked back and directed himself around Rique. He heard the guy’s laughter behind him just before he raced back around Mickey to halt his progress again. Mickey raised his brows as though asking ‘yes, can I help you?’ _

_ “So I guess this means we won’t be spending time together no more?” Rique asked casually. Mickey’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. _

_ “Don’t go gettin all teary-eyed about it, you’ll see me around.” He started to dart around him again but Rique blocked his path. _

_ “C’mon… Don’t pretend you haven’t felt somethin this month…” Mickey bit his lip and averted his eyes. He’d gotten some hints that Rique was gay but he figured it was just withdrawals from being alone since he got here. Apparently his gay-dar was pretty damn accurate. “I mean… I didn’t need four fuckin weeks of training, did I?” Rique stepped into Mickey’s space and he backed up a little to maintain his personal space. _

_ “You did actually. You don’t even know how fuckin bad you were. I’m amazed your ass never got caught,” Mickey replied firmly. Rique blushed but shrugged, undeterred. _

_ “Okay but… Don’t tell me I made up all that… tension…” Mickey stopped backing up and Rique got right in his face. Mickey was honestly not attracted to him but… they did fit pretty well… apparently even better than he’d noticed before if this kid was gay too. But… Mickey really wasn’t even attracted to  _ Rique _ … It was an ache of loneliness that always haunted him, it was the glimmer in his deep brown eyes…. The strong broad shoulders that, though they were too dark to be his, reminded him of Ian.  _

_ It was that loneliness, that need for affection and physical connection with  _ someone  _ that had him backing against the wall as Rique kissed him. Guilt shattered his heart as he kissed him back but he couldn’t stop himself. That ache for  _ someone  _ propelled him forward and though he hated that the guy he was kissing wasn’t Ian, he also knew that he couldn’t go on without  _ someone  _ in his life. _

_ When Rique broke away from the kiss, pelvis pressed tightly against Mickey’s hips, the line of his semi ground into Mickey’s lower abdomen, Mickey was actually breathless. _

_ His heart shattered in a billion fucking pieces because even though he’d been with other guys than Ian, he’d never kissed any of them.  _

_ It was absolutely insane to feel like he was cheating on Ian with that kiss because he knew for damn sure that Ian was liplocking with whoever the fuck he wanted to. It wasn’t fair, but that was exactly what he reminded himself of every time he started to stop his first night with Rique.  Each time he felt guilty for what they were doing he reminded himself that Ian had already left him behind and that, though he knew he’d always love Ian and couldn’t ever feel the same way for anyone else, it was fuckin time for him to enjoy his life for a little while. _

////

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Mickey walk by but… he couldn’t face him. God, that mess of himself that he’d been last night… That was the most humiliating thing he’d ever let Mickey see--and he’d seen him doped out of his goddamned mind in front of Mickey at  _ least  _ twice. At least then he’d been barely aware of his surroundings, much less hardly had the capacity to feel embarrassment as Mickey scrambled for his attention. Hell, he hardly remembered these experiences because of the drugs.

Now was different. He’d been of sound-ish mind; cognitive enough to know he was acting weird but unable to stop it. And Mickey had been so comforting and calm…

As he dipped his fork into the barely warmed peas, Ian fought the feeling that Mickey was sick of him. But try as he might, the thought was already so ingrained that fighting it was truly useless.

Mickey was tired of him. And he couldn’t blame him. A life with Ian was a life of fuck-ups and fragile stability--the kind of stability that is achievable for a short amount of time but would blow away with the slightest upset to his routine. He’d missed _one. Fucking. Pill_ and had a night-long panic attack and was bed-ridden for the next eighteen hours! Surely Mickey wouldn’t have the patience for this for long. Especially if it happened again.

He waited as long as possible before dumping his tray, mostly untouched, and heading upstairs. He just… He couldn’t face Mickey. Consciously he knew Mickey would never judge him but he couldn’t escape this feeling.

The climb up the stairs was more exhausting than he wanted to admit. Though he knew it wasn’t his fault, it was one more thing to add to the list of things weighing Ian down. He worked to keep his composure so no one would perceive his weakness as he staggered into the cell. The door slid shut behind him once he reached his pills sitting on the sink as usual. 

A strong set of arms wrapped around his waist, startling him a little as he started to swallow the first of his pills. Mickey retreated at Ian’s jump.

“Sorry… Just… happy to see you vertical,” Mickey’s tenor voice rumbled behind him, a warm and comforting hand resting on his shoulder. Ian’s heart seized in pleasure at hearing his voice and feeling those fingers lightly massage his shoulder, but that depressing voice perked up again..  _ He’ll leave you. He’s going to get sick of this shit and leave you. He’s already got his own friends to keep him company, he doesn’t need you. He can serve his time and go as far away as he wants--a  _ free  _ man. _

“You got along,” Ian mumbled through his last mouthful of his dose. Mickey’s hand froze on Ian’s shoulder and he could feel the tension radiating off of him as Mickey’s whole body froze. When Ian turned around to get to his bed he caught sight of Mickey’s furrowed brow, his confused scowl.

“The fuck does that mean?” Mickey demanded, his patience already wearing thin evidently. Ian breathed out heavily, the air seeming to settle in his chest no matter how hard he tried to push the air out.

“I know you’re glad I’m on my meds again. I know you think it’s what’s best for me and for us. And you’re right.” Ian cut off, not entirely sure of where he was going with this. After a long moment of adding nothing, Mickey’s brows shot up and he demanded, “And?” Ian’s heart and stomach seized. “And… I just can’t help thinking that this could happen again. And it probably will happen again--I mean, you saw it, these people don’t give a shit!” Mickey’s brows furrowed even deeper, an upset gleam washing over his blue eyes. On some level he knew he was making no sense, he knew he was being irrational but he really couldn’t escape the thoughts buzzing through his brain telling him that it was only a matter of time… No one could handle this bullshit and what’s more, he shouldn’t ask anyone to. 

“So we’ll deal with it--”

“I’ll deal with it,” Ian corrected a little more harshly than he meant. Mickey had never looked so bewildered, so confused, so shocked. “Look… It’s only a matter of time before you get over getting woken up at three in the morning whenever my meds fuck up and… And if those assholes are going to fuck with me like that for the next two years… I’d get tired of it too.”

“What the fuck kinda crack are you smokin, Gallagher?” Mickey demanded way harsher than Ian ever anticipated. Ian sighed sadly. A lump rose in Ian’s throat, suffocating him and cutting off his words. He had to swallow twice before he could finally get words out of his open mouth.

“I know where this leads, okay. No one should watch someone fucking up like this--”

“You’re not fuckin up, dumbass, your meds were fucked with by someone who doesn’t give a shit! I ain’t gonna leave you for some shit that you can’t control! What--is this… Is this because I went on with my schedule without you or somethin? Cus all I was trying to do is keep the guards from seeing something wrong--”

“No, Mick,” Ian laughed without humor, “What am I, five? You  _ should  _ go about your day-to-day regardless of what’s going on with me. You  _ should  _ have a life outside of me. I just… don’t think you should be forced to watch everytime my fragile stability gets whacked out of balance… It’s easy to do and will probably happen plenty. You don’t need to see that or lose sleep over that.” Mickey opened his mouth to fight back but shut it three times before finally just huffing out a dark breath.

Did he just break up with Mickey? Not necessarily but he was giving Mickey an out. 

Climbing into his bunk, Ian tried to tune out Mickey’s pacing but ended up listening to the frantic footsteps slapping against the cement floor until sleep came for him.

////

Mickey paced so long and so hard, a slight sheen of sweat dampened his uniform.  _ What the fuck was happening?  _ When Ian finally tossed over in his bunk, clearly trying to tune Mickey out, he stripped out of his uniform, tossed it on top of their locker, and ducked into bed. But that didn’t keep him still. Kind of like how Ian’s body trembled last night, Mickey’s right foot kept bouncing against the bunk and at this point he really didn’t even care if he woke Ian up. In fact, he almost hoped it did. He wanted to give that asshole a piece of his mind like he’s never wanted to before.

At some point in the night, tears of frustration stung the rims of his eyes and he swiped at them angrily. Eventually, though, he had to quit swiping because he was going to rub his eyes raw if he kept at it. So he just let himself do what his body was telling him he needed to do. He cried. 

It wasn’t boo-hoo bitch tears, it was angry tears. He’d sacrificed  _ everything  _ for Ian Gallagher and  _ once a-fuckin-gain  _ Ian Gallagher was tossing it aside.  He breathed deep, though, when he realized--to his irritation and relief--Ian wasn’t consciously throwing them away. Ian was scared. And though Mickey had never given him a reason to doubt that Mickey could handle his highs and lows, he was still afraid. Growing up in the Gallagher house where  _ bipolar  _ was treated as the only bad word that was actually considered bad, Mickey couldn’t blame Ian’s fear of abandonment or of being a burden, or worse, of Mickey eventually getting tired of it.

But Mickey  _ wasn’t  _ a Gallagher! He wasn’t going to run away when the going got tough. And then suddenly, Mickey was crying for Ian Gallagher. Mickey hated crying more than anything else but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Mickey remembered the first time he’d teared up from making love with Ian. The bastard was always so cocky that he got the ‘big, bad Mickey Milkovich’ to cry insisting it was his skill… And while it was true that the guy did have serious skill in the sack, that hadn’t been the reason for any of the times Mickey teared up. There was always a huge release of emotions from being with Ian, this emotion only stronger as he fell deeper in love with him.

 

_ Mickey wiped at his eyes as quickly as he could but it was no use… The ginger spotted the wetness, heard his sniffle. The softened look complete with raised eyebrows and gentle eyes was simply too much for Mickey to look at and so he just tossed over on his bed to face away from the bastard, covering his naked backside resentfully with the blanket. Ian covered his body with his own through the blanket, though, and kissed his shoulder. Mickey tossed him off angrily, groaning in discomfort at the touch. _

_ “I mean… I know I’m devastatingly good but--” _

_ “Fuck off,” Mickey interrupted harshly, dipping his wet cheek against his pillow as a casual way of getting rid of the evidence. Ian barely made a sound which only made Mickey’s small sniffles louder in his silent bedroom. The first time they’d fucked face-to-face… and with kissing… and he breaks down afterward like a fuckin girl. Jesus… _

_ “It’s okay, Mick. I won’t judge you. Ever.” Mickey froze at that and, tears drying on his cheeks, turned toward Ian who smiled softly down at him. Ian settled down on his back and raised an arm over Mickey’s head, offering his chest for a pillow. Mickey’s chest and stomach erupted into rapid gunfire as alarms blared in his head that this was a bad idea. But… That small, steadily broadening chest suddenly looked like the most comfortable surface he had ever laid his head. He swallowed hard, anxiety whipping his stomach into knots, his lungs in his throat, as he rolled all of the way over to rest his head on Ian’s chest. Slowly, Ian’s arm lowered to wrap around Mickey’s back, his hand holding his shoulder in a tender cup.  _

_ He knew consciously that this was a bad idea. Ian had been pushing for more solid signals that they had a ‘relationship’ with like… promise of a future and shit… And.. And Mickey just didn’t know about that. He was a here and in the now kinda guy because the now was all he ever could depend on. And the now was that dad was out of town with Iggy and Tony, Mandy was out doin whatever the fuck she wanted, and Ian was here with him truly alone for the first time ever. These risks were always hard, even downright scary, but if he wanted to experience any of this shit with Ian, it had to be now. _

_ The tears had dried up quickly but Mickey still didn’t want to let go of Ian. Being in his arms was honestly one of the most comforting experiences of his life… Though that probably wasn’t saying much it still… it still meant something to Mickey. And these feelings scared the ever loving shit out of him. _

_ Knowing that this was their chance to experience what they (what he secretly) wanted to experience, Mickey pushed back up from Ian’s chest and stared down at Ian. The lighting, thank Christ, was not even close to romantic with the overhead fluorescent light bleaching the room, but their eye-lock was so tender the atmosphere still crackled with light licks of fire and the room around them seemed to fade away and it was just them. Ian’s pink lips were tilted up in a gentle smile and though he wasn’t touching Mickey, the expression was so intimate that he may as well have caressed with light fingertips every spot on Mickey’s face that those green irises landed on. Mickey licked his lips in anticipation and suddenly he could hear his breathing in his ears, harsh and scared. Ian’s expression was just starting to shift to concern when Mickey tossed the blanket aside and in one smooth motion, straddled Ian’s waist and kissed him passionately. _

_ And… that was the first of many, many times Mickey bottomed from the top. _

 

The first time he cried after sex was when Mickey finally realized that he was falling in love with the guy. And it fuckin terrified him. It terrified him now as he lay in his bunk, tears streaming into his ears and raw, agonizing sadness clogging his throat. Ian was sick again and this time it was because some fuckwad fucked with all of the progress he’d made in the past month and with that  _ one fucking missed pill  _ he’d convinced himself that Mickey was going to leave him.

The weird thing was he knew he should be offended by the idea. He’d  _ never  _ left Ian, definitely not since they were kids at least, but Ian had walked out on him multiple times. But instead of being angry and wanting to shove it back in Ian’s face how wrong he was, he just wanted to hold him and show him how wrong he was in his being here in the first fuckin place to snap him the fuck out of this.

He’d been stupid to think missing one pill would just result in a hard night and difficult morning. That shit had triggered a downhill spiral and if he got much worse the guards would take him to medical… as though he’d just  _ stopped  _ taking his meds and hadn’t actually  _ fought  _ for his correct dose in the first fuckin place.

He wanted to punch the bed, the wall, the mirror… Something to make himself hurt… to give himself something  _ real  _ to fuckin cry about. But he didn’t want to disrupt Ian’s much needed sleep.

So instead he lay there in silence listening to Ian’s deep breaths with no clue how to make this all better for either of them.

….

Mickey hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until the flush of the toilet startled him awake. He sat straight up in bed and relaxed only when he realized the only person in the room was Ian. He sighed in relief as Ian, so quietly he could barely hear, murmured a “sorry.” Through the fog of sleep, Mickey suddenly felt himself growing angry. Ian was climbing into his bunk when Mickey finally huffed an angry breath and jumped to his feet.

“Hey!” Ian stopped mid-jump into his bunk and turned around, feet solidly on Mickey’s bunk. Mickey breathed harshly, eyes narrowed at Ian who stared back wide-eyed. “What the fuck makes you think I’m gonna walk out on you, huh?” Ian lowered himself to the floor, eyes watching his feet carefully as Mickey continued glaring at him. “Huh?!” He wanted to shove him, make him talk but he also knew to hold himself in check--that wasn’t them anymore and he needed to keep a hold on his hurt before he did something really stupid. Tired, of waiting for Ian to respond, he pressed forward. “When the fuck have I ever walked out on you? I  _ always  _ showed the fuck up for you! I may have been a little late but I  _ always  _ stuck it through and I fucking  _ promised I’d be there for you _ ! What… What the fuck have I ever done to show you different?” Ian bit his bottom lip, his brow furrowed hard--he looked like he was in pain but in that moment Mickey was happy about it. Let that asshole know that he’s being an asshole right now.

“It’s so easy to fuck me up… even when I try to get my shit together. If it’s not dumbass nurses or guards my meds could just stop working! It’s… it’s so much bullshit you came back for and I don’t get why--”

“Because I love you, you idiot!” Mickey whispered furiously, stepping into Ian’s personal space bubble. “Yeah, it is a lot of bullshit and it fuckin sucks. But  _ I  _ knew you’d have that bullshit to work on,  _ I  _ knew what this shit would look like, and I even knew I might have to fight you to get back on your meds again but I didn’t! You’re on ‘em, you’re doin your best, and… And goddammit that’s all I want! I can’t get mad at you for doin what you’re supposed to--”

“Even if it’s not me you’re mad at or worried about… I can’t… I can’t ask--”

Mickey charged forward and took Ian’s face between his hands, maybe a little too harshly. He tilted Ian’s head so they were eye to eye, Ian’s attention one hundred percent on him.

“You listen the fuck up right now. I have fought too long and too fucking hard for your ass for you to pull this shit now. I did  _ not  _ come all the way back here, turn on a fucking cartel, and decide to trust you again for you to shove all of that to the side for  _ your own conscience. _ I made my choice and if you want to shit on that do it because you don’t want to be with me anymore not because you think you’re bein fuckin noble or something stupid.”

Ian’s chest expanded and deflated rapidly as he visibly fought for breath. The tears welled in his eyes so suddenly that Mickey was shocked when Ian collapsed into his arms. He recovered quickly, though, and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s shoulders, spreading his fingers into his hair to massage gently at the scalp. Ian released what must have been days worth of emotion and Mickey just held him. As Ian started to gather his breaths and settle down they moved to Mickey’s bunk. They sat in complete silence and Mickey stroked at Ian’s face, waiting for him to break the silence.

“I just… I don’t understand why you keep coming back or what the fuck is in it for you. I’m… I’m a fucking mess and no matter what I do I always will be.” Mickey rolled his eyes and once again adjusted Ian’s face so they were making intense eye contact.

“I. Love. You. You. Asshole.” He repeated. Ian, despite himself, cracked a smile. Mickey remained as serious as death. “I mean it; I did  _ not  _ fight for you for the past  _ four fucking years  _ for you to just decide I’m gonna quit anyway. Have I ever quit on you before?” Ian bit his bottom lip and averted his eyes before shaking his head sadly. After a brief silence, Mickey lowered his hands but continued staring at Ian’s face as the other man wrestled with himself. “Then don’t go thinkin I’m gonna start now. That’s the dosage fuck-up talking to you.” Ian’s face crumpled a bit as shame washed over him. Mickey’s stomach churned at seeing his lover so torn. “Goddammit, Ian,” he sighed and wrapped an arm around him, lowering them both to lay on the bed. 

Ian didn’t cry long, he more or less choked on an emotion he was unable to express and so collapsed into a fit of tearless sobs. Mickey rubbed at the back of his neck, sure that this was going to give him the mother of migraines when he finished. Mickey took a deep breath of relief when he did finally stop, and before he could stop himself, blurted, “Paolo wants me back. That’s why Marcus an’ Garcia’ve been on my ass.” Ian stiffened next to him.

“You told them no, right?”

“I tried,” Mickey whispered back. “I told them I didn’t have connections and I’m tryna go legit this time. Either they don’t believe me or don’t care.” Ian shivered beside him and sat up, leaning on his side.

“What does that mean?” Ian’s low voice trembled. Mickey inhaled sharply in his discomfort and shifted around until he settled on laying with his knees bent and arms folded behind his head. He didn’t want to admit this.

“I… I’m gonna be training some guys over the next few months.” Once it was out he finally was able to look up at Ian’s concerned face.

“Only a few months?” Mickey shrugged, biting his bottom lip.

“That’s what I offered to get him to quit pesterin me. I dunno if he’s gonna let me stick to that.” Ian adjusted to sit on his ass against the back wall and stared straight ahead blankly.

“What if he doesn’t?” Mickey averted his eyes at the question because he didn’t have an answer. And he didn’t want to admit that he didn’t have an answer. Ian looked away, laying flat on his back beside Mickey. It was a snug fit but they managed with Mickey twisting ever so slightly on his side. Ian sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then blurted what must have been on his mind lately.

“Those two guys I’ve been with since you… One had HIV and didn’t tell me until after we’d fucked once. And… He cheated on me with a woman, said it wasn’t cheating because she was a woman and… He more or less dared me to fuck a woman since I’d never tried it.”

Mickey’s brows crashed together in confusion and surprise.

“So you  _ did?!”  _ Ian covered his face with his hands. “And… and you’ve fucked  _ me  _ since touchin a guy with the virus?!” Ian shot straight up.

“Whoa,  _ I’m clean.  _ I’d  _ never  _ do that to you!” The panic in Mickey’s chest subsided a bit and then suddenly he thought about his own sexual history… The guys he was with in Mexico he always used a rubber and if one wasn’t available, too damn bad. In prison… well, that was another story. Fuck...where the fuck was his right to judge with his own status unknown to him?

Well… all long-term inmates had to get a physical done during intake so since no one had come to him…. Surely that meant he was clean?

Or maybe that meant he didn’t have anything highly communicable… Sex was against the rules here, so they wouldn’t warn about an STD.

Mickey exhaled harshly, worry crowding his stomach. Ian looked down at him with sympathy.

“What’s up?”

Mickey worried his lip between his teeth for a bit before finally blurting out his thoughts.

“I’ve never been tested. I dunno what I got or if I got anything.” Ian’s lip quirked up on one side and his eyes softened in sympathy. He ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair and Mickey sat up to lean against the wall. He didn’t want to be comforted like an injured lamb or some shit.

“We’ll both test when we’re out, a’right?” Mickey nodded. It was the best they had for now.

“And…” Mickey exhaled sharply, anxiety churning his stomach as the guilty words slid over his tongue like slime. Ian looked at him attentively, ready to hear what he was going to say. “And… About Marcus? He… he might be treatin you like shit because back when I first got here, when I was alone in here, we were fuck buddies.” Ian’s reaction was the exact reason he never wanted to say it. Ian looked devastated. But it wasn’t like this was going to turn into some love-triangle shit. Mickey knew who he wanted and Marcus knew what their relationship was before and wasn’t going to fight to return to that arrangement. Ian was sitting back against his own wall adjacent to Mickey but he refused to look at him. Mickey bit his bottom lip in discomfort. They sat in agonizing silence for a long, long time. Mickey’s stomach twirled in so many knots he could feel them in his throat. Finally, fucking  _ finally  _ Ian nodded.

“Anything else we need to say?” Ian asked, dim eyes finally drifting over to his.  Mickey mulled it over. Was there really anything else bothering him now? At the moment he couldn’t think of anything.

“I think that’s all from me…” Mickey murmured. Ian nodded and mouthed ‘me too.’ “Anything you wanna know?” Mickey asked in return. Ian thought about it and finally, awkwardly spoke.

“You know about my boyfriends… the shit I did when I was manic or just being stupid…” Mickey bit his lip awkwardly, already seeing where this was headed. “Were you with anyone serious? You know… down there? Or even up here, I don’t know…”

“No,” Mickey answered immediately. Ian’s chest visibly deflated with relief which sent a thrill of panic through Mickey’s stomach because he didn’t want to lie to him, not even from omission. “I was ‘with’ a guy down South but I wouldn’t say it was serious. He was convenient.” Ian nodded, absorbing the information as easily as possible. Mickey was astounded at how easily Ian was taking this… which probably meant the kid was at war with himself on the inside.

“He fuck you?” Ian asked bluntly and Mickey just nodded, unashamed, no apology anywhere in his expression or body language--because he wasn’t sorry and knew he shouldn’t be. Ian sighed sadly and seemed to wrestle with himself for a little bit. “Did you love him?” He asked shyly. Mickey’s heart sank but he was able to genuinely and honestly reply “no,” without any hesitation. Ian searched Mickey’s eyes, clearly not quite believing him, but eventually nodded.

This was it. They were good now. Everything on the table, all grievances done with. All they had now was to look ahead to their future. Mickey still felt nervous trusting Ian but he knew that if they were to move forward, he did need to start putting some trust in him. This time would be different or else he was done.

But he didn’t want to think of that “or.” This time would be different, period.

Ian slowly climbed into Mickey’s lap, straddling him and carefully applying his weight to him.

“I love you too,” Ian whispered against Mickey’s lips and Mickey’s eyes grew heavy with the relief that settled his stomach. He placed his tattooed hands on Ian’s waist, digging his thumbs gently into the tee-shirt and farther so he was lightly massaging his skin too. A relieved smile spread across his lips and he bit his bottom lip trying to conceal it. Ian touched his thumb to the concealed lip, freeing it from between Mickey’s teeth and gently caressed the skin with the pad of his finger. They continued gazing at each other for only another weighted moment and devoured each other in a heavy, passionate kiss.

They kissed so deeply and so passionately they shared each other’s air, they breathed together through their kiss and explored each other with hesitant hands. Ian introduced his tongue first and Mickey accepted gratefully. Mickey felt a familiar tightening in his core and a need to thrust his hips up into Ian, seeking friction, though he could barely even feel his erection. Still, Ian ground down in response and his hands trailed from Mickey’s hair down to his chest, one hand lingered but the other continued trailing down to his stomach. Mickey’s skin jumped at the contact and his core constricted as though subconsciously wanting to show off his muscles but he relaxed again. He tensed again when Ian’s hand dipped below his waistband. His fingers trailed through his pubic hair, the bastard even pulled it on purpose as he sought the base of his cock. At the semi he was packing, Ian pouted a little bit.

“What, and you’re fuckin ready to go?” Mickey snarked as he padded at Ian’s crotch only to find that.. Yes, yes he was. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He gaped without meaning to. Ian laughed a hearty deep laugh that lit Mickey’s heart up like a fuckin Christmas tree. “Fine, I guess we’re takin care of you first,” Mickey faux-snarled, pushing Ian off of him and onto his back. Ian kept laughing as Mickey freed him, right up until he swallowed him down. His laughter cut off (thank fuck, Mickey only had so much pride) and a moan burst from his chest. Mickey fought a smile but in the end, smirked as well as one could with his mouth full. Ian sighed a little each time Mickey took him all the way into his mouth, as Ian’s dick  _ kept hardening  _  he had to work a little harder to get the whole thing in there--but damned if Mickey wasn’t determined to keep up the pace.

He kept working at relaxing the back of his throat, determined to take him all of the way at least a few times before releasing him. Ian kept his hands in his own hair to avoid pressing down on Mickey’s head. The ginger’d made that mistake once before a long-ass time ago when they were still teenagers and never made it again.

He felt the tip of the cock at the back of his throat and held for one… two… three… four seconds before finally having to release. Ian’s face of pure joy from the feeling made Mickey want to do it again but he had to catch his breath.

Ian pulled Mickey back over him and shoved his hand back under his waistband to check on Mickey’s progress and smirked at the result. Mickey wanted to say  _ of course blowing you got it going, dumbass _ but he didn’t want to ruin the heady atmosphere from their joined panting breaths breaking through the otherwise silent cell. Ian wrapped his fist around Mickey’s shaft and rubbed softly, squeezing intermittently. Mickey thrust into his hand and started moving his own hand wrapped around Ian’s cock.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Ian cursed under his breath, closing his eyes and tossing his head back as they continued to work each other.

This was all they could do right now until they got lube and Mickey fuckin hated it. One thing they were always great at was making up and the best way to do that was to let each other know through their bodies  _ I’m still with you, I still love you, I still want you.  _ And though this was definitely something, there was just something about feeling Ian inside of him that was so much more…  _ complete.  _ There was also something about feeling Ian finish inside of him that was overpowering, like the best high he’s ever fucking had.

In the meantime, Mickey kept thrusting into Ian’s hand and stroking Ian, getting high on the sounds dripping from Ian’s open mouth. Ian finished unexpectedly, streams of white splattering on his tee-shirt. Mickey stopped his movements once Ian was wrung out--head thrown back, mouth wide open, panting slightly. His hand was still firmly wrapped around Mickey’s cock, though, and it was one of the more awkward moments of their sex life because he had no idea what the fuck to do now.

After a couple of moments of Ian gathering his breath and Mickey just… throbbing in Ian’s hand as he hovered over him, Ian finally burst forward, shifting Mickey to lay on his back. Mickey grinned, even laughed a little as Ian tore at his boxers, ripping them off of him and laid on his stomach between Mickey’s legs. As well rehearsed, Mickey propped his legs up to give Ian complete access to whatever part of his anatomy he was after. To his surprise, Ian actually spent quite a bit of time just licking at the underside of his cock and playing with the rest of his shaft or even his balls. Whatever Ian did it felt indescribably good. His cock felt heavy and throbbed as Ian’s tongue and lips caressed his sensitive skin. The longer Ian teased him without making a move to actually move Mickey along he started to wonder what the hold up was… until suddenly he realized what Ian was after.

“C’mon man…” Mickey begged. Ian smirked for a second but then wiped his expression clean as his tongue teased at his perineum. Mickey groaned and tried to thrust his hips forward but Ian was, evidently, prepared for that move and he just moved his face to the right to kiss at his thigh.

“Ugh, fine. Ian,  _ please _ .” Mickey hated to beg and Ian loved it when he could get him to.  It was damn near evil. Ian returned his lips to the tip of his cock and kissed it lightly, inspiring a prick of pleasure in Mickey’s core.

“Please what?” He murmured against the head.  _ Godfuckingdamn this cocky-ass bastard. _

“I wanna come,” He replied simply, trying with all of his might not to be reduced to begging like a bitch.

“So then come,” Ian returned with his mouth ghosting Mickey’s shaft. “I’m touching you, aren’t I? You like it don’t you?” Mickey groaned in irritation.

“Yeah, well, I want more.”

“Needy…” Ian teased some more, sounding almost chastising.

“Fuckin jerk me harder or stick a finger in my ass or something, Jesus!” Mickey flung out in irritation. Ian couldn’t contain his laugh and he was merciful.

He kissed his way down Mickey’s shaft and sucked at his balls very briefly before finally slipping a moistened finger inside of him. Mickey didn’t know how or when he’d wet his finger but at that moment he didn’t give a flying fuck because feeling him inside of him, even if it was only a finger, was so goddamned good. Mickey couldn’t contain his moan as he lifted his legs off the bed as though Ian was actually fucking him and he was cradling Ian’s thrusting hips. In response, Ian did move so he was hovering over Mickey, wanting to make the experience seem as close to the real thing as possible. Mickey almost wanted him to chance it with a second finger but knew that was probably a bad idea so instead retreated to his memories to call on other experiences they’d had. He remembered how it felt to have Ian’s strong thighs propping up his, spreading his legs wider and snapping his hips forward, driving himself farther and farther inside him. Ian’s lips pressed against his neck as he continued driving into him. He wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist and started pushing back on his hand--imagining, still that they were really doing it.

Release barreled through him when Ian kissed and groaned against his throat. Ian retreated immediately and collapsed on top of him like they always did--as though Ian knew what Mickey was fantasizing about.

Mickey brought Ian’s lips to his and kissed him passionately. Ian grinned as he kissed him back. They kissed dazedly for a long while, just enjoying the sweet connection. Soon, though, the warmth from their protective cocoon melted away and the frigid cold of the cell sank in, raising gooseflesh on Mickey’s bare thighs. Ian covered them both with the blanket which had crumpled at the foot of the bed from all of their activity. As they lay in silence, Ian’s head rested on Mickey’s chest, Mickey was starting to dose off, happy that things were back to how they should be.

“I’m sorry…” Ian murmured into the stillness. Mickey’s eyes snapped open and he turned his attention to Ian.

“‘Bout what?” He asked confusedly.

“Letting my bad thoughts get to me... For letting them convince me that you’d leave me.” Mickey’s heart sank. He hated that those thoughts got to Ian, he hated that he had those thoughts, and they did hurt because Mickey always knew they were unfounded--and Ian could usually ignore them but… This time he’d really bought it and that hurt worse than he really wanted to admit. 

He couldn’t vocalize any of that, though. Ian already felt guilty enough and it wasn’t like he meant to have those thoughts. He probably wanted them to stay away even more than Mickey did. So instead of saying anything, he wrapped his arm tighter around Ian’s shoulders, hugged him close, and kissed his forehead for a long moment, breathing in his  _ Ian  _ smell. Finally, just as he knew Ian was drifting into sleep, he murmured against his hair, “it’s okay… I love you.”

 

_ Rique emptied himself into the condom with a drawn-out groan. Mickey’d finished a few minutes ago and so he retreated quickly. His lay rolled onto his back, not even bothering to remove the condom, and grinned up at the ceiling. That bright smile shot lightning through Mickey’s chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand to look at him another second and so he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his pants to grab a smoke. He suddenly remembered the way Ian always lay out stretched beside Mickey when they were done. How he’d smile at no one and nothing in particular, just… bask in the afterglow. Mickey used to make fun of him for it before they were officially together but there’d always been something charming about it. _

_ Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and guilt churned his stomach as he moved to stand and could still feel the ghost of Rique so recently inside of him. He hated the feeling, but more than that he hated that he didn’t hate the feeling. _

_ Rique was a good lay and he didn’t know when the fuck he’d see Ian again, if he’d see Ian again. But this transition was… fucking painful. _

_ He raised the cigarette to his mouth and was about to light the end when Rique reminded him to step outside in Spanish. Mickey turned to him, brows raised in confusion and amusement. “Deposit,  _ gringo _ ,” Rique reminded. Mickey laughed and rolled his eyes, discreetly wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes and standing up to step out on the patio. _

_ “You’ve got to be the only drug dealer I’ve ever met to give a shit about a deposit,” Mickey snarked from the balcony. He wandered outside naked because it was night time and there was a bannister to hide his lower half from anyone walking around outside below them. He lit the cigarette and took a healthy inhale. The nicotine instantly settled his nerves but his stomach still tossed as he thought about what he’d just done. He never bottomed with anyone but Ian… Really he’d never had the opportunity but he’d also never had the desire to. He knew he needed to get over it, to learn to enjoy being with someone else. But he couldn’t help but feel like it was all wrong. He didn’t regret it, not one bit but… He couldn’t escape the voice inside his brain screaming at him that he should be with Ian right now. _

Well, I fucking  _ can’t  _ be so I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta fuckin do!  _ He chided himself. Rique wandered outside with him, one of Mickey’s cigarettes in hand and Mickey lit him up. _

_ “That was good,” Rique whispered shyly. Mickey nodded but didn’t say anything. Rique waited for a long time before trying to speak again. “...So… We gonna do this again?”  _

_ Mickey avoided his gaze for a long time but finally he met his eyes and murmured, “ _ Sí.”

/////

Now that Ian knew what Mickey’d been up to he was set at ease about  _ them  _ but was set even further on edge by the anticipation of waiting for whoever it was Mickey supposedly knew. Who the fuck had Paolo gotten ahold of and was it a coincidence that he got him or was he targeting Mickey on purpose? As concerned as Mickey’d been when Ian first got here it was becoming more and more apparent that  _ his _ safety was the least of their issues. The guys sometimes made the odd joke about “gay Jesus” but otherwise no one fucked with him and he was going to keep a low profile to keep that pattern going.

Over the past two days Ian tried convincing Mickey that he needed to pay closer attention to the guys around them but Mickey insisted he was always on alert even if Ian didn’t see it. Ian was so nervous that his stomach was in knots pretty much any time their cell door wasn’t tightly closed in front of them. With Mickey’s confidence, Ian knew that he would either be right or it was Ian’s job to be a step ahead.

Which… was going to be hard since Ian couldn’t count on his meds being correct anymore, evidently. He also suddenly realized that his family hadn’t tried to visit him yet. It’d been almost a month already and… nothing.

Maybe it was this block? Where guys in protective custody allowed to receive visitors? Maybe that’s what this was… Ian asked as much while they waited for his morning meds.

“We’re not  _ not  _ allowed to have visitors in here. We’re just in a smaller block so the guards can keep a closer eye on us and the type of guys in here probably don’t have many people outside who want to see ‘em.” Ian nodded dismally and Mickey looked sympathetic but unsurprised. The ‘I told you so’ was probably lurking at the tip of his tongue but, mercifully, he kept it to himself. “Why don’t you try callin them?” He suggested gently. Ian shrugged but murmured that he would.

The cart scraped into view and soon after, the nurse. He passed Ian his dose and turned to his clipboard. Ian turned to his cup but noticed that his dose was fucking off again!

“Hey, wait--”

“You’re  _ fine  _ inmate,” The nurse interrupted harshly.

“No! This is the second time this has happened and the first time was  _ rough.  _ Just… Look at ‘em!” He started to hold the cup out to the nurse but the nurse only glared back, making a strong effort to avoid looking at the cup.. Mickey’s mouth dropped when he saw the pills in Ian’s fist.

“You’re only getting what you’re prescribed,” the nurse grumbled irritably.

“That’s what I’m  _ asking for! _ ” Ian cried. The nurse started to move, completely ignoring Ian. “ _ Dude!  _ Why the fuck would I want more than I need?! I’m telling you I need one more because I  _ do _ !” 

The nurse reappeared in his doorway, a sinister look on his face.

“Check the book!” Ian pleaded.

“Keep accusin me of fuckin with your script and I’ll toss you in seg, you hear me?” Ian’s heart pounded into his throat and his stomach collapsed to his knees. He could practically feel his organs inside of him shifting as he staggered back to sit down somewhere before he collapsed, Mickey guiding him back to sit on the toilet since apparently he had doubts about Ian’s ability to make it to the bed.

Ian kept his gaze fixed on Mickey’s face though he wasn’t looking back at him, he was glaring at the nurse like he  _ really  _ wanted to do something stupid. Instead, he crouched down by Ian, took a deep breath, and plucked the pills out of Ian’s hand to place them inside of the sink before Ian’s shaky hand spilled them on the floor.

“I just got back to normal!” Ian croaked, tears pricking his eyes and nausea churning his stomach. “I don’t want to do this again!” He cried.  _ Godfuckingdammit _ ! Mickey’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a heartbreakingly sympathetic look and his crouched position below him just completed the effect.

“It’ll be okay… We’ll get through it, okay?” Ian inhaled deeply through his nose and breathed out slowly through his mouth--he heard that shit was supposed to be soothing… 

And it was… Kind of.

“I’ll be with you the whole time, alright?” Ian gazed deeply into Mickey’s eager eyes and nodded solemnly. Mickey caressed Ian’s thigh with his thumb for too short of a moment and then stood to get to breakfast. Ian really didn’t feel like eating but he really had to.

He trailed Mickey’s sure stride in a shuffle and mechanically followed Mickey’s lead, grabbing the tray and plastic fork and following like a sheep following its shepherd to the table. He poked at his food but the anticipation of experiencing that fuck up again so soon really upset his stomach. Mickey poked him playfully in the ribs, a way of reminding him to eat because he really, really had to. Ian sighed but raised a forkful of the watery “eggs” to his mouth and swallowed it whole. It felt like cement going down but he knew he had to have something in his stomach. Halfway through his tray, Mickey jumped up to his feet.

“ _ Ig?!”  _ Mickey called. Ian looked up in shock and alarm. Three tables over… sure as the  _ fucking world  _ was Iggy Milkovich. His lazy smile stretched wide across his face as he walked with his tray over to their table. 

“Jesus, man, what’re you doing here? I thought you were living with the beaners!” Iggy cried excitedly as he took a seat across from them. Mickey shook his head and laughed, rolling his eyes at the offensive name.

“Yeah until this idiot got caught doing stupid shit,” Mickey teased. Ian didn’t take any offense to it, this was actually just like old times at the Milkovich house and Ian felt his entire core light up with some relief at the nostalgia.

“God, I heard. What the fuck got into  _ you? _ ” Iggy asked Ian seriously. Ian shrugged.

“Stopped taking my meds and a bunch of other crazy people got me excited…”

“Oh, Jesus, not another suitcase scheme!” Ian burst out into laughter and nodded even though the situations were no where near related.

“What’re you doing here, man?” Mickey asked his brother as he finished off the last of his breakfast.

“Eh, same old. Dad’s plans fell through and I got left behind.” Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“I always told you to run like hell throughout the week. Your ass is always too fuckin slow.”

“Eh, my technique was never so good either but… I get work for a few months before comin back and I always get out after a few months so I guess that’s somethin.” Mickey was about to shoot something back until a thought seemed to occur to him and stop him in his tracks.

“Mick?” Ian asked low. Mickey shook his head slowly, face suddenly grim.

“Ig… You involved with a guy called Paolo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the slur in there, y'all. I'm trying to keep everyone in character and I hate including it but I know that it's who the Milkoviches are 3:
> 
> As always please let me know your thoughts, your favorite parts, what you hope to see soon, etc.


	7. Alarms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iggy being in with Ian and Mickey is proving to show some promise and another inmate causes some trouble.

Ian went upstairs to get his meds right after breakfast but Mickey and Iggy stayed put. He figured Ian would be back as soon as he was done taking them and he didn’t want to give the guards any reason to think they were up to something by all three of them going upstairs.

It turned out Iggy had worked for Paolo before because  _ Terry  _ worked with him in here when none of the other Ukrainians were in his block. Loyalty wasn’t exactly Terry’s forte so long as he could get away with it.

“So he wants me to train you?” Mickey asked, bewildered. Iggy laughed.

“I mean… I wish you luck, it’s not like you’ve never tried.” Mickey narrowed his eyes in thought.

“He knows we grew up together… There’s no way he doesn’t…” Mickey thought aloud. Iggy bit his lip like Mickey does when he’s thinking hard. “So… why does he want  _ me  _ to train you when you’ve already worked with him?” Iggy shrugged.

“He honestly didn’t say anything, just told me my new assignment would be taught to me by someone I know. You’re the only one in here I know that I’ve seen so far,” Iggy responded quietly. 

“It’s gotta be some kinda test but… but what?” Iggy just shrugged again. Mickey picked up his tray and Iggy followed suit.

“How do we play it then?” Iggy asked under his breath. Mickey didn’t answer until they were on the stairs away from everyone else.

“We figure out a new route in. He’s not given me one, he’s trying to get me into his group again. We find a new in for him to take over when I’m ready to leave, he might leave me alone just because I’ve got leverage on him.”

“And giving up the in’ll show you ain’t in it,” Iggy added. Mickey nodded.

“That’s what I’m hopin. Ian’ll flip his shit if I get in this again. Even by accident.” 

Iggy stopped walking beside him and Mickey stopped too, turning to keep him in sight.

“You two good again?” Iggy asked seriously. Mickey smiled grimly but genuinely and stepped closer so he could keep his voice low.

“We’re good.”

“Really?” Iggy’s brows raised in disbelief.

Mickey nodded to assure him and Iggy huffed a heavy breath. 

 

_ Iggy didn’t visit until a month into Mickey’s sentence. Svetlana, the bitch, hadn’t thought to tell anyone where he was and so it took Iggy digging around hospitals and jails for him to finally stumble upon the story about the he said / she said attempted murder case of the century. Mickey had already cut ties with Svetlana when Ian stopped visiting and so he was on his own. Being on his own wasn’t exactly new and yet knowing that there was someone out there who should care… who could visit if he only wanted to… it made being on his own so hard that most days he felt like he couldn’t breathe.  _

_ When Iggy visited the first time his brother was actually offended when Mickey’s face fell. He really thought that Ian finally came to see him and seeing his brother should have made him happy but, and Mickey wasn’t proud of this, it was actually a let down by comparison. _

_ “Gee, good to see you too bro,” Iggy snarked at Mickey’s disappointed face. _

_ “Sorry…” Mickey mumbled back through the phone. His older brother furrowed his brow. _

_ “You had so many visitors that you can pick an’ choose who you get excited about seein?” The younger brother glared at the elder and pursed his lips in irritation. Iggy looked like he was about to go on the attack when a thought visibly struck him. “Your boyfriend hasn’t been to see you?” He asked surprisingly gently. Mickey averted his eyes and readjusted the phone in discomfort. _

_ “It’s good to see you, Ig.”  _

_ Iggy narrowed his eyes. _

_ “You fuckin kidding me? What the fuck happened? You two were supposed to be all ‘ghetto love story goals’ or some shit. You two were practically married!” _

_ “Yeah, well… That’s done, a’right?” Mickey snapped back. But the tone was off. Instead of sounding angry and putting an end to the topic, his voice cracked, making it obvious that he was working hard to conceal deep seated emotion. Iggy’s eyes softened through the glass.  _

_ “But… I don’t get it. You practically worshipped the ground the other walked on… He  _ loved  _ the  _ fuck  _ out of you!” Mickey blinked really hard and Iggy could tell that Mickey was wrestling with similar confusion, the same thoughts. _

_ “He doesn’t want to take his meds and… I don’t know, he’s just done with me,” Mickey murmured into the phone. _

_ “But you’re not done with him,” Iggy stated simply. Mickey pleaded Iggy to stop the subject with his eyes. They said,  _ please don’t make me think about it more than I already do. I can’t take it. _ Iggy nodded, averting his eyes to hide his anger and hurt. _

_ “Well…. Fuck him then,” Iggy replied dismissively. Mickey nodded, but his spirit clearly wasn’t in it. _

 

“For real, Ig. Just a coupla days ago we put all our shit out there—it’s done.” Iggy bit his bottom lip in apprehension but finally smiled and clapped his little brother on the shoulder.

“Good. I always liked him. He got you to smile without someone spraining an ankle or breakin an arm.” Mickey rolled his eyes at the exaggeration and followed Iggy the rest of the way to his and Ian’s cell. 

“We’re DL here, though. I don’t need to tell you what assholes could do if they figured it out.” Iggy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, but if you think you two are fooling anyone  _ you’re  _ officially the stupid one of the family,” Iggy teased. Mickey punched him hard in the arm and they both laughed as Iggy reached out to do the same. Mickey laughed up until he made it to the door of the cell where he stalled. 

Seeing Ian curled up on his bunk froze the blood in his veins. His brow furrowed as he crossed to the beds. He hoisted himself up to prop on Ian’s bed and gently got Ian’s attention by shaking his shoulder. Ian grumbled irritably but didn’t turn around. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Iggy check out the inside of the sink, Mickey gestured with a nod of his head as though asking  _ what’s got your attention?  _ Iggy pulled out the small cup of pills that Mickey had put in there earlier. Mickey rolled his eyes to the ceiling and held them there as he counted to five—not patient enough to count to ten. He held his hand out for Ian’s pills and, in an impatient voice, commanded Ian to turn over so he could take his pills. Ian did turn over but the dark look on his face almost sent Mickey back to the floor. He turned to Iggy, dismissing him, and his brother silently saw himself out.

“Ian, what’s wrong?  You never go to bed before taking your meds.”

“What’s the fucking point?” Ian grumbled. Mickey felt his eyes lose absolutely all sympathy.

“You know goddamned well what the point is and you are _not_ backtracking like that. You’re gonna keep taking what they give you because even if it fucks you up at least you’ll know _you_ did what you were supposed to.” Ian’s brows crumpled as he seemed to fight a hard emotion. Had the doors to the cells been locked, Mickey would have stroked his love’s hair and whispered to him that it would be okay. As it was, he could already hear guys walking behind them, going about the start to their day.

“I don’t want to have another panic attack, Mickey—”

“I know you don’t but we both know that if you just stop taking them you’ll feel even worse.”

“Not right away… I think I’m on an up—”

“Ian.” Mickey cut him off so abruptly that Ian flinched like Mickey’d struck him. “No,” he murmured more gently. “I know it’s tempting but you know the next low’ll get as just low. Don’t…” Dear God was he about to play this card? He felt like such a piece of shit for what he was about to say but it was the only rope Mickey had to grasp. It was, unfortunately, the only thought running through his brain. “Don’t make me watch that again.” 

Ian searched Mickey’s eyes and sighed as he sat up. Mickey breathed out in relief; relief that Ian wasn’t mad at him for pulling that low and selfish card, that Ian wasn’t fighting him anymore. He passed the pills over and shifted back to the floor to fetch water for him. Ian tipped all three pills into his mouth just as Mickey extended the cup of water to Ian’s hand resting in his lap.

“I’m sorry…” Ian whispered, shame sending his eyes downcast to his shoes. Mickey licked and bit his bottom lip in matching sadness.

“Just… Remember what’s at stake if you stop. You’d have to start all over. And as much as this sucks… it can’t be as bad as that first week back on the shit.” Ian met his eyes and shook his head, agreeing that going off and reacclimating later was the absolute worst possible scenario. Mickey breathed out to release some of the tension in his stomach. They remained in a tense silence for a long time before Mickey finally asked Ian what he wanted to do today. Ian shrugged.

“I guess hang with you and Iggy til phone time, then group.”

“No yard today?” Ian thought about it and finally murmured, “We’ll see.” Mickey accepted that and patted his knee just before Ian jumped out of the bunk.

////

Iggy was waiting for them outside of the cell, arms folded and a barely concealed smile on his face. Mickey glared at his brother as though growling, “don’t say a goddamned word,” and Iggy just dropped his arms as though faux-innocently replying, “say what? I wasn’t going to say anything!”

For the next three hours the boys played cards and caught up. Mickey had already basically summarized everything and Ian didn’t have much that he wanted to share beyond why he was here, but Iggy had  _ much  _ to describe.

After the last time Iggy was released he’d found love and lived with a woman who was  _ way  _ out of his league. She had a baby already and Iggy surprisingly took to the kid quickly and the kid even more surprisingly took to him first! He still ran numbers for Skinny Mike and robbed the odd convenience store when his job at Advanced Auto didn’t pay enough but for the most part Iggy’d gone straight. His girl kept him on the straight and narrow, made him pay attention to his parole officer, made him take his court-ordered therapy seriously… Iggy was doing good… but that led to Mickey having to ask what went wrong…

Fuckin Terry Milkovich happened. Through Skinny Mike, their dad tracked his brother down and bullied him back into the family business. The bastard’d only been out two weeks by the time he caught him and… though he knew he was doing alright, there was a sense of Milkovich loyalty that Iggy had never been able to shake like Mickey and Mandy could. 

He’d started dealing Terry’s shitty coke and special k but it was the body burying business that got him pinched.

Turning on Terry was the natural choice and yet Iggy knew that turning on Terry Milkovich would just get him shanked in here so… he bit his tongue and decided to bide his time, swearing to turn on him when he got out so he could serve his probation in peace and move as far away as possible when he was free to.

“The girl?” Ian perked up, dealing the final round before yard time. Iggy flashed his attention to Ian and his eyes said it all.

“Sorry, man,” Mickey murmured, accepting his hand from the table. Iggy hid his face behind his hand for a second, just long enough to suck his emotion back — clearly a Milkovich trait — and finally shrugged. Ian flashed a look to Mickey but Mickey wasn’t looking at him. Ian felt bad for Iggy like he’d never felt before. He and Ig spent some time together when Ian lived at the Milkovich house but they weren’t what anyone would call “close.” But seeing that heartbreak in the older man’s eyes and hearing how Terry Milkovich once  _ a-fuckin-gain  _ ruined one of his kid’s lives just… God it sucked more than Ian could put words to describe.

“I don’t really wanna talk about her no more… Uh…” He struggled with a new topic and Ian finally caught Mickey’s eyes. His lover’s eyes were shiny with sympathy for his brother, but he clearly knew when to let something go and so didn’t push. “Oh! Mandy called a coupla months ago!” Ian’s eyes popped out of his head and Mickey’s raised brows gave away his excitement and shock.

“What?! What’d she say? Where’s she at?” Ian blurted over Mickey’s similar questions.

“Well, she gave me her number, says she misses the family...” the tone of his voice was enough to indicate which part of the family she missed. “Asked if I’d heard from Mickey and I just told her last I heard he was on the run and hadn’t been caught. She’d planned to come visit but… Well, obviously that’s not happening the way she wanted…”

“What, you think she won’t come to visit the three of us?” Ian asked, shocked.

“Naw, I’m sure she will, that’s not what I’m sayin. I’m just sayin she’d planned to come stay with me and my girl but when I heard pops was gettin paroled I told her to delay the trip.” Iggy clarified. Ian nodded sadly. “Good thing I did! Wouldn’t be good for her to get all worked up over me gettin pinched again.”

“You really think she’d be shocked?” Mickey asked sardonically. Iggy glared resentfully but didn’t argue. Mickey grinned and laid down the winning card. Ian and Iggy groaned and simultaneously slapped their cards down on the table.

“I don’t get it! I swept the floor with you—” Iggy started.

“Poker’s universal, boys. And I had a lot of free time on my hands down there.” Mickey bragged, collecting the cards to give them a good shuffle before putting them back with the other games in the corner.

“Anyway, I know me gettin pinched wouldn’t freak her out necessarily but… well, she’s pregnant and I figure—”

“ _ Pregnant _ ?!” Ian and Mickey cried together. Iggy grinned and nodded.

“She’s happy about it?” Ian checked, anxiety crowding his stomach as he remembered her state the last time he saw her — frightened… clinging to her dignity as she explained her newest occupation… Fully convinced and trying to convince Ian, too, that she was happy being an escort. Iggy nodded with a satisfied smile. 

“Yeah, she met a guy through work and he got her away from the agency—”

“The fuck kinda guy would she find to love through an escort service?” Ian wondered aloud, irritation and concern darkening his tone. Iggy shrugged.

“I dunno, I guess that’s something you can ask her if she visits you!” Ian about fought him on  _ that _ .  _ If  _ she visits him?!  _ Please  _ she was still his best friend, of course she’d visit him!

… Wasn’t she?

… Wouldn’t she?

Instead of lashing out, Ian shrank back and was so consumed in his worries that he actually tuned everything else out.

////

Ian was getting more and more irritable by the moment. It didn’t make sense, but Mickey supposed it was the fuck-up in his meds already kicking in… Or maybe the stress of worrying about the pills was fucking with him before the pills even got the chance… Either way, Mickey watched Ian as he sat in complete and uncomfortable silence beside him for the rest of the conversation. He kept an ear on the conversation with Iggy but his focus was clearly on his partner.

“So, like I was saying, I figured, with her condition, that her being around stress in general wouldn’t be good. Pops might’ve been out by the time she came down and me goin down at the same time?” He breathed a harsh breath through his closed lips to make an exasperated noise.

“Yeah, that makes sense, Ig.” Mickey replied simply. Iggy caught the drift quickly and changed the subject.

The alarm blared for count before yard time and they agreed to meet up by the bench if they didn’t line up together. Ian was sticking with his plan to try calling the Gallaghers before group and Mickey lightly brushed his fingers over Ian’s arm, trying to let him know  _ I see you. I see you’re upset and I get it, and I’m here. _

Ian didn’t seem to notice and they just filtered out of the cell toward their predetermined destinations.

As planned, Iggy waited for Mickey by the bench and was prepping the bar. He was clearly prepared to show off because he’d loaded the bar with about twenty pounds more than either he or Ian had been lifting. Mickey smirked and rest a hand on the bar, single brow raised in question.

“What, that too heavy for you?” Iggy asked tauntingly. Mickey shrugged.

“Guess we’ll see…” Mickey replied smugly, knowing for damn sure that Iggy wouldn’t be able to bench that if he wasn’t.

“Ladies first,” Iggy smirked. Mickey’s smugness fell as he glared at his brother. Though he knew Iggy wasn’t being hateful and was just playing around, it always bugged him a little when Iggy rubbed his sexuality in like he was the butt of a joke — especially when it was in reference to him being a proud bottom. It was just annoying more than anything — and Iggy had done it enough back when they were still living together that the jokes were still old now.

Mickey lay on the bench and started his reps. He had to work a little harder and skimp on the total number of reps to make up for the 20 extra pounds stressing his muscles out, but he fared  _ way  _ better than Iggy who could only do five reps at a time before Mickey had to lift the bar back into the cradle for him. 

Iggy wiped his forehead of sweat and held his hands up in defeat. Mickey laughed in triumph.

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up…” Iggy moaned irritably. This only made Mickey laugh harder because his brother was always such a sore loser when he had to be sober.

Once the laughter died, Mickey sobered up.

“So.. you know your work assignment yet?” Mickey asked quietly. Iggy looked up at his younger brother and replied “cleaning crew.” Mickey grinned wickedly, seeing the many ways they could get the stash in… and basically anything else they wanted.

….

Mickey was so excited to tell Ian about Iggy’s work assignment and what that meant for them  _ both  _ that he damn near skipped up the steps. He halted in the doorway at Ian’s curled-in form. Iggy already left him to go get his shower stuff so Mickey didn’t have an audience as he slowly entered the room, trying to announce his presence without startling him. Ian shrugged his shoulder as though letting him know that he was aware of Mickey’s presence. 

At least he thought so.

Mickey tugged off his shoes and sat at the foot of the bed so he could see Ian’s face at the head. Ian pushed back to give Mickey room to lay down beside him against the wall. 

Before Iggy arrived, Mickey would have  _ never  _ done this during the day with their cell door open and all inmates allowed to roam. With a third person in the joint on their side, Mickey wasn’t nearly as concerned. Still knew they had to play it safe but he wasn’t nearly as paranoid. Ian probably was still paranoid but just felt so shitty that he didn’t care at the moment. When he perked back up Mickey knew Ian would throw his defenses up again.

“What’s up, man?” he breathed once he was stretched out beside his boyfriend. Ian sighed but didn’t make any move to share. 

… Was it that bad… or that obvious?

“Meds fuckin with ya?” Mickey guessed, eyes lowering to observe Ian’s bouncing foot.

“Well, yeah, but you already knew that.” He said it snarkily but Mickey let it go because he knew he didn’t mean it.

“Okay, then…”

“No one picked up,” he finally answered. Mickey deflated and kept himself from rolling his eyes.

“It’s Thursday, Ian. They’re probably working.” Mickey should be considered for sainthood with how patient he’s been.

Ian  _ did  _ roll his eyes.

“Never stopped them from texting me damn near immediately when I was  _ out. _ ” He probably thought he was making a valid point but a text and a phone call were two completely different things, even if Ian didn’t want to admit it right now. Mickey still thought Ian was overreacting but he kept that to himself. Fighting him on that would get them nowhere and would just make Ian mad at  _ him.  _ And… Well, Mickey wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep himself from bringing up how many phone calls  _ Ian  _ skipped out on from  _ him.  _

“I’m sorry…” Mickey replied simply and ran his fingers over Ian’s. Ian intertwined their fingers and traced the tattoos on Mickey’s… something Mickey didn’t even realized he’d missed until the hollow feeling erupted in his stomach and his heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his gut.

“I know I was damn-near psychotic when I suggested it, but I really do think we should have each other’s important outside contacts lists… just in case anything happens while we’re in here.” The hollow feeling evaporated and Mickey scoffed before he could stop himself.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to—” He stopped himself at Ian’s continued wounded look. “Alright, it’s a good idea it’s just… I didn’t really have an emergency contact list without you and with you and Ig both being in here, that basically leaves Mandy now that I can get her number.” Ian nodded sadly and another, darker emotion crossed his face. It was so dark, fear shuddered through Mickey. Checking over Ian’s shoulder and seeing a clear railway outside, he leaned in and kissed Ian briefly and gently. A soft smile lightened Ian’s features and Mickey beamed in relief. Mickey was leaning in again when a loud, drill sergeant-esque command boomed from the common area below.

“GALLAGHER!” Ian sat straight up in bed, eyes so wide they almost consumed his face.

“ _ Christ _ !” Ian mouthed in shock and confusion. Mickey sat up too and massaged the back of Ian’s neck right behind where a vein beat frantically in time with Ian’s anxious pulse. He followed him downstairs, Ian taking his time to slow his heartbeat.

“Don’t you think that you get to skip on group just because it’s not court ordered, Gallagher. You need it just like everyone else,” Dr. Wexford barked so loudly everyone in the common area had to have heard.

“Just not feeling great today, sir,” Ian explained calmly. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

“Well, you’re not bleeding, not puking, and you’re breathin’, so you can contribute to the group.”

Ian didn’t bother with another reply. He just dropped into the empty chair immediately to his right. The past four sessions, Ian had been able to sit far from Wexford so he felt less like a teacher’s pet. This time he felt like the “special” kid of the class who had to sit with the teacher to ensure they didn’t try to set a kid’s clothes on fire while the teacher wasn’t looking. 

Today they were moving on from anger management (sort of) to support systems.

As always, Wexford asked if someone wanted to go first; and as always, no one did. For the first time since he first got here, Wexford called for Ian to speak first. And with the sting of rejection still fresh in his chest, Ian supposed this was  _ the  _ last topic he wanted to talk about today. As always, he kept it vague.

“I’ve got a friend I can go to,” Ian answered simply.

“Do guys you’re fuckin on the inside count as ‘support’?” Marcus snickered just quiet enough that Wexford could pretend Marcus was trying to be discrete or that he didn’t hear. Either way, he ignored the attack of the comment and Ian felt another sting of dejection as he realized none of the administration here gave a shit about him.

“Well, Marcus, the men in here  _ could  _ be a good support. They are in a tough spot in their life like you, they might be less likely to judge you, won’t have any personal stake in your incarceration… So, Gallagher, if you’ve made a friend inside, that’s great!”

Okay… maybe it’d been better if Wexford had dropped it all together. Ian flushed and knew  _ that alone  _ was giving Marcus’ point validity, and he suddenly had the need to prove him wrong.

“I’ve got friends outside too,” Ian replied coolly, trying to not sound too indignant.

“No one that can bother to send you a postcard,” Marcus shot back so fast it was like he was prepared for it.

“Let’s see yours then since you’re feelin so special!” Ian raged back before he could stop himself. Marcus shrugged and laughed.

“I didn’t say I’ve got anybody on the outside. I don’t  _ need  _ anybody. But clearly you do…”  Ian felt his cheeks darken.

_ Check. _

“Actually, Marcus,  _ everyone  _ needs  _ someone.  _ And I’m sure if you think real hard you can think of someone.” Ian laughed privately. It felt like Wexford was scolding Marcus and that made attending group  _ so  _ worth it. The rest of the guys visibly buried snickers of their own, unable to help themselves from the hilarity of Wexford’s infantilizing tone.

_ Reverse check.  _

“Nope. And I don’t give a shit, neither. I’ve done fine being on my own since I was ten — I get people in my life as I need ‘em and how long they stick around is up to them.”

_ Oh…  _ That story sounded familiar….

Ian forced himself to shake off the sympathy… This was  _ Marcus.  _

“If you choose to look at it that way, you can,” Wexford replied uncharacteristically soft. He always did when it came to Marcus. “…but it sounds to me like you have some long-lasting resentments to handle and some amends to make. Maybe the reason you’re alone is because your actions have hurt the people who love you.”

“I ain’t hurt nobody, doc! I’m just alone and I’m fine with it!”

Wexford gazed at Marcus with a look Ian didn’t recognize. He was too warm, too invested. Ian shook off the last of his sympathy and redirected his concern to why Wexford was so goddamned invested. It was… suspicious.

But maybe that was the pills fucking with him….

Wexford just ignored Marcus from there and returned his attention to Ian.

“So, Gallagher. How do your friends support you and help you make good decisions?... Strive to keep doing better?”

“I mean… they listen to me… Make me feel like… I don’t know, like even with my fuck-ups I can get back up… move on.” Wexford kept staring at him in that way that said he was waiting for more. The prick could always sense when someone (or maybe it was just him) was holding on to more. “H--they uh keep me on track… you know, when I fuck up. They remind me that sometimes that shit happens and you’ve just gotta keep goin.”

“It sounds like your friends are very forgiving.” Ian’s heart thrummed in his chest and he felt tears rise in his eyes,  _ goddammit. _

“Yeah… They’ve forgiven a lot of bullshit. And they’re tryin to keep me from giving them more reason to forgive me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Keepin me on track when it feels like the universe is workin against me… Keep remindin me to just…. Do my best, and that’s all I  _ can  _ do, and that that’s okay.” Dr. Wexford nodded and looked pleased.

“We can’t all be so lucky,” a disgruntled black guy in the corner grumbled. Ian nodded. He knew he was lucky. And it was knowing that that actually made him feel shittier half of the time.

/////

Every time Ian was at group Mickey just wanted to throttle someone. Someone  _ always  _ gave him a hard time — though of course it was almost always Marcus. 

This time he still wanted to throttle somebody but Iggy was around to keep his attention diverted enough that the urge was more manageable. 

They played cards and even started a pick-up game of poker midway through Ian’s group. 

One guy somehow got a packet of lube — Mickey raised damn near $10 worth of commissary food for it, knowing that Ian wouldn’t mind even if he’d lost.

He won, of course, and as Mickey swiped the packet into his hand he had to fight real damn hard not to look smug or too excited. In the effort to suppress that excitement, it also got him thinking…

Who brought in the lube… and why did they bring it in? A conscientious top? A closet bottom? This guy was so unlikely to have bought this that it was insane. Not to brag on his gaydar, but there was a reason that Mickey never let it slip to anyone in the hood that he was gay, much less a bottom, other than Ian. His gaydar was damn good, and it was Ian proving just how fucking  _ gay  _ he was that proved his accuracy. So… did this guy just find it? Was it in a different pot from a poker game and now he was happy to get rid of it because gambling with that hadn’t actually cost him anything?

Well… didn’t fuckin matter. As soon as Ian was up for it, Mickey was getting  _ laid. _

The group dispersed soon after that round and Ian started to meander over to the table, clearly not paying attention since he, once again, forgot to go upstairs for his meds. Mickey nodded up to the bunks and Ian sighed before turning around to climb the stairs. Mickey’s heart sank because he realized with Ian’s staggering steps that the poor guy had zero energy. But he couldn’t get Ian’s meds for him and he was  _ not  _ going to skip a dose.

“He seem tired to you?” Iggy asked. Mickey sighed, turned to his brother, and nodded solemnly. “Jailhouse blues?” He guessed.

“Naw, the fuckin nurse keeps fuckin up his dose. This is the second fucking time in two weeks!”

Iggy winced. He didn’t know dick about mental illness but fucked up doses of anything never sounded good.

“It’s… it’s makin him want to give up on ‘em.”

“He can’t!”

“I know. That’s what I told him this morning.” Iggy breathed a sigh of relief, looked at his brother, and got up from the table. Mickey followed him with his eyes but did not move to follow. He ate when Ian did. Period. When Iggy walked away, Mickey first snorted at his brother digging at his asscrack as he walked to the chow line, then turned his attention to the rail of the second floor. It felt like an eternity before Ian’s dyed black head finally emerged and he followed Ian’s progress with his eyes, and finally moved to meet him at the stairs. 

He could tell from the water rimming Ian’s eyes that it’d happened again.

_ Motherfucker!  _ Mickey was about ready to riot, suckerpunch that quack of a ‘medical professional’ until he passed over a whole bottle for Ian to work from. But instead, he just silently followed Ian through the line, fighting the incredible urge to touch him, comfort him.

As soon as they sat back down at their table, Iggy beamed at Ian in pride.  _ Oh yeah… the pot… _

“Ian, you’ll never guess what your bunk-buddy got for ya,” Iggy announced in an excited whisper.

“Probably not,” Ian replied lamely. Mickey’s heart collapsed again at Ian’s defeat. At Iggy’s urging look, he pulled the packet just slightly out of its hiding place, the breast pocket of his uniform, and held it out just long enough for recognition to hit Ian’s eyes.

“How’d you get that?” Ian whispered.

“Poker,” Mickey replied smugly, unable to help himself.  Ian actually lit up for a second. Iggy had to cough lightly for Mickey to realize they were grinning at each other like a couple of idiots.

“That your secret plan for finally getting us out of the south side?” Ian asked with flushed cheeks. Mickey shrugged.

“Gotta have the starter cash but I can give it a try after that if you’re game to invest.” Iggy made a disgusted noise from across the table.

“God, if I’d known that sticking with you two’d make me the world’s saddest third wheel, I’dve tried to get some other friends. 

Mickey tossed a couple of peas at Iggy and Iggy was about to return the favor when a guard called out “NOT ON MY WATCH, MILKOVICH.”

Both Milkoviches rolled their eyes and settled back into their seats.

“So… that how you think we’ll distribute?” Iggy asked before taking a giant gulp of watery mashed potatoes. Mickey nodded, swallowing a spoonful of his own mashed potatoes.

“I’ll throw the games to the guys who pay. But Ian, that means we’ll need you to play with us…” Mickey replied uneasily, looking at Ian with caution, even fear. He hated when Ian was mad at him. It only made the feeling worse when he did something that he  _ knew  _ would piss Ian off and did it anyway. Ian didn’t reply, but Mickey knew he’d heard. Iggy started to repeat the information but Mickey kicked his brother under the table as though screaming over him, “he HEARD, moron.” Iggy nodded and switched the subject to spoiling the latest  _ Star Wars  _ movie even though neither Ian nor Mickey were actually listening.

….

As soon as the lights turned out, Ian jumped from the top bunk and rolled into Mickey’s. Normally, Mickey didn’t like being Ian’s distraction. It felt… fake somehow. Like even though he knew Ian loved him, for those twenty or thirty minutes, Mickey was just a body for Ian to lose himself in. Maybe it was ridiculous for Mickey to ever feel that way or maybe he was just so desperate to feel Ian inside of him again that he didn’t care this time, but whatever the reason, when Ian attacked his lips Mickey attacked right back.

There was something so unbelievably upsetting about having Ian be  _ right there  _ and still be unable to have him. It fucking sucked.

Well, now they had no reason they couldn’t be together and all Mickey could think of was if they could possibly half the lube to cover a second night.

Ian ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair, his nails lightly scratching at the base of his neck, making him shiver.

“I love you, Mick,” Ian whispered against Mickey’s lips. The brunette smiled, unable to hold in the reaction because… well, sometimes it was just really fucking good to hear your loved one say that they loved you.

“I love you too, Ian,” he whispered back against his cheek just before gently kissing his jaw. Ian sighed as Mickey’s kisses traveled down, down, until he was biting lightly at Ian’s shoulder. Ian lowered his forehead to Mickey’s shoulder and ground his hips into Mickey’s.

He wasn’t even near hard…

Mickey slipped his right hand down Ian’s neck, across shoulder, down his back, and around to the front of his boxers so he could feel him… He was really,  _ really _ not hard.

Mickey didn’t outwardly react but inside he knew that this wasn’t going to be the night.

Ian buried his face deeper into Mickey’s shoulder and thrust lightly into Mickey’s hand as he stroked him. After a long moment of Ian breathing, sighing into his neck, Mickey urged Ian’s face back up so that they could kiss and Mickey slipped his tongue across Ian’s lips. His partner sighed, allowing Mickey’s tongue access and meeting him.

Ian kept thrusting into Mickey’s hand and grunted in irritation when he didn’t so much as stir.

Mickey collapsed back against the bed, releasing his grip around him. Ian collapsed all of his weight on Mickey in defeat and Mickey just rubbed at Ian’s back in sympathy.

“I’m sorry….” Ian breathed into Mickey’s neck.

“Don’t apologize, man.” Mickey breathed back, kissing his temple. Ian released a shaky breath and rolled off the smaller man’s body. They lay there a long time, just stroking each other in a platonic, comforting way.

“But… I want you…  _ so fucking bad.” _ Ian gasped. Mickey’s heart fucking  _ shattered.  _

“I know…” Ian sat up and glared down at Mickey.

“Do you? I can’t even get it the fuck up, how’re you so confident?”

“You tryna talk me out of it?” Mickey snapped back accidentally, unable to stop himself. Ian stilled, not breathing just long enough that Mickey got concerned. Ian finally released the breath and rolled onto his back — Mickey moved to give his boyfriend room.

“I’m sorry…” Ian murmured into the quiet. Mickey just rolled onto his side and rubbed at Ian’s chest. Ian took Mickey’s hand in his and intertwined their fingers. “I don’t… I don’t understand how you keep forgiving me but…. Thank you.” Mickey would have laughed at how ridiculous a thing that was to thank him for… but the depth of his sincerity stole Mickey’s breath.

“I love you, idiot.” Mickey replied easily. Ian grinned. They lay in absolute stillness for a long, long moment. Probably about ten minutes, and Mickey was just about to ask Ian if he’d fallen asleep when Ian finally spoke up.

“You could always top me…” 

Mickey’s brows shot up.

The first time Mickey topped Ian, the redhead was manic. Up to that stage in their relationship, their opportunities to get together were always so frenzied, and Mickey’s purpose was to scratch that  _ particular  _ itch that jerking off couldn’t reach. When Ian was sick, though, they were living together and they had so much access to each other that they finally got to really explore each others’ sexuality. And that wasn’t to say that Ian had never bottomed before because he had—plenty of times. But the night Ian’d come home high  _ as fuck  _ from work and practically begged Mickey to top him shocked the living shit out of Mickey. He’d done it, and he’d enjoyed it immensely, but he always assumed there was a reason Ian never seriously asked for him to do it again.

“You… you sure?” Mickey asked. He wasn’t even quite sure if he wanted to top but… God he just missed Ian’s body in general and he was more than willing to use that whole damn packet if it meant they could be together for tonight. 

Ian nodded and Mickey covered Ian’s body with his.

////

_ Ian burst through the front door of the Milkovich house practically on fire with want. Normally, Ian was cool with always topping. He knew Mickey’s preference and any time he’d bottomed he’d not really liked it so much either so… it just always worked out for them. But that last dance of the night… For some reason Ian needed Mickey inside of him fucking  _ now.  _ Mickey was extinguishing a cigarette in the kitchen when Ian charged through the house. His pleasant face collapsed when he took in Ian’s, no doubt, wild appearance. Mickey opened his mouth, probably to ask what was wrong, and Ian just surged into Mickey’s space and kissed him, hard. _

_ Technique went wholly out the window with this kiss as Ian shoved his tongue in Mickey’s open mouth. His eyes were closed as he passionately moved his lips against Mickey’s. Mickey’s body rest rigid against the counter of the kitchen, surprise apparently freezing him. Ian pulled back and, breathless, tried to get him to respond as he reached for his belt. _

_ “C’mon, Mick, don’t you want me?” Mickey’s brow just furrowed with confusion. “ _ I  _ want you,” Ian sighed as he dropped to his knees in front of Mickey. The brunette tried to object because he wasn’t ready but he didn’t move to stop him as Ian tore at the button and zipper on his jeans. _

_ “Ian, what the fuck? You gonna suck it soft?” Ian was about to pull his boxers down when he pulled back to look up at Mickey, brow arched teasingly. _

_ “You got a problem with me doin that?” Mickey blinked a couple of times, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he seemed to think this situation through. _

_ “Uh, no, no… No if that’s what you want…” Ian grinned victoriously and shoved both layers of clothing down to mid-thigh so he could have plenty of access.  _

_ Yeah, Mickey wasn’t even a little hard… but he’d change that. _

_ With his hands clasped on Mickey’s thighs, Ian reached forward with his mouth, seeking Mickey out. The smaller man stayed completely still but Ian knew he was watching intently. The slightest of twitches came from his soft cock as Ian teased him with his lips, his tongue. He looked up, hoping (knowing) he wore a seductive grin and felt the slightest surges of pride as Mickey visibly lost his breath at the image. _

_ With another lick up Mickey’s shaft, Ian finally wrapped his lips around the head and sank down a little bit, pulling back and pushing back down in small, slow increments to drive Mickey wild… And it worked.  When he finally reached the base, Mickey had an agreeable semi and Ian took advantage of the ease with which he could reach the base to take a deep inhale of Mickey’s scent, to enjoy the feel of the soft curling hair against the tip of his nose and top lip. Above him, Mickey released a small, breathy moan which deepened as Ian pulled back, his tongue massaging the underside of him as he backed off. From there, Ian set a steady rhythm, the aim to get his boyfriend hard quickly because his need was growing more and more insistent as fantasies of Mickey’s tongue and then finger opening him up and his  _ gorgeous  _ cock finally fucking him, gently at first and then ravishing him, teased his consciousness (and his groin).  _

_ As he worked, Mickey’s hand slowly sank into the top of his hair. Mickey didn’t even apply much pressure, provided no guidance—he just needed something to grip onto because apparently the counter was no longer enough. _

_ “Ian…” Mickey sighed and Ian’s heart soared with victory. He loved when he made the usually silent Mickey Milkovich vocal in any way during sex. His delectable cock was heavy on his tongue and he was high on what he was able to do with his mouth—but he had to pull off now. The now fully-erect cock just made Ian think even more about what he wanted Mickey to do for him tonight. _

_ Mickey sighed remorsefully when Ian retreated but Ian just shimmied Mickey’s pants the rest of the way off his legs. Mickey followed suit and stripped his shirt off too, tossing it on top of the rest of his clothes.  _

_ One hand stabilizing his erection, the other wrapped around Ian’s upper arm, Mickey led them into their bedroom before they could get caught with… ehem, one of their pants down… _

_ As soon as the door was shut behind him, Mickey stripped off Ian’s shirt and Ian’s fingers deftly unfastened the button and rolled down the zipper of his jeans. From there, he quickly backed onto the bed and laughed giddily as Mickey shucked his jeans and boxer briefs off, struggling a little bit with Ian’s body laying down. Mickey was clearly preparing to launch onto the bed to get in position so Ian star-fished on the mattress, blocking Mickey’s access to the surface, as he reached for the lube on his bedside table. He flipped over, lube in hand, and planted his bare feet on the bed, displaying himself in such an obvious position, Ian only prayed that Mickey got the picture and agreed to go along. Mickey hesitated, staring down at Ian wantonly laid out across the bed with a look of confusion in those gorgeous, glittering blue eyes. Ian sat up a little bit and reached for Mickey’s left arm, pulling slightly as he laid back down. Mickey followed him, climbing onto the bed, straddling him. He reached for the lube but Ian stopped him, knowing that Mickey thought Ian wanted him to ride him. While yes, he  _ loved  _ that and any other day would beg for that… it wasn’t what he wanted this time. He retracted his arm with the hand holding the lube so it was out of Mickey’s immediate grasp.  _

_ He sat up again and bit his lip seductively. When he entered Mickey’s personal space, when they were sharing the same air, Ian gazed intently at Mickey’s plump bottom lip, wanting to kiss it and making that want known.  _

_ Mickey lowered his lips to Ian’s and kissed him gently. Ian opened his mouth slightly to kiss Mickey’s bottom lip and then again to kiss his top lip separately. They opened their mouths together and this time Mickey introduced his tongue and Ian met it. Mickey placed his hands lightly on Ian’s shoulders and started to wrap them around him but… that gesture was once again indicating that Mickey was prepared to ride him.  _

_ Ian laid back and kept his hand on Mickey’s chest to keep him sitting straight up. He uncapped the lube and, before Mickey could grab it to prep himself, Ian squirted a generous amount into his palm and started stroking Mickey’s hardness, making eye contact as he did so, hoping with everything that Mickey  _ finally  _ got it. _

_ He closed his eyes as Ian stroked him and thrust ever so slightly into Ian’s hand. After stroking him for a little bit, spreading the lubricant evenly across his shaft, Mickey finally opened his eyes and looked inquiringly down at Ian. _

_ “You…?” _

_ Ian bit his lip and slowly passed the bottle to Mickey who accepted it cautiously. _

_ “I…  _ really  _ want you inside me,” Ian breathed out huskily. Mickey’s brows shot up but he didn’t argue. After a moment’s hesitation, Mickey backed off Ian, lowering himself back to the floor. Ian turned so his head lay on Mickey’s pillow as Mickey wandered into the closet for a quick second. He emerged with another pillow, the spare one Svetlana had used while she was in the last few weeks of her pregnancy with Yevgeny. Mickey tossed it next to Ian and clambered onto the mattress. Ian spread his legs willingly and Mickey settled before him, anxiety covering his face, but determination and arousal in his eyes. _

_ Mickey applied a little lube to the tips of three fingers and placed the bottle to the right of Ian’s hip. With careful precision, Mickey laid the third finger against Ian’s opening, massaging the lubricant against the muscle with a gentle pressure. Ian gasped, withdrawing only slightly from the chill of the gel, but pushing forward at the shock of pleasure rushing through his groin and core at the contact.  _

_ Mickey moved forward to hover over Ian and suddenly the air around them felt so intimate and Ian felt vulnerable—he wondered idly if Mickey ever felt this way or if he was used to this feeling by now… He suddenly understood why Mickey’d been so overwhelmed the first time they fucked face-to-face in bed. As Mickey teased his opening with the second finger, Ian pushed forward a little more, wanting him to go ahead and start the process of spreading him open but Mickey retreated in order to keep a very light pressure against his opening.  _

_ Ian groaned in frustration, feeling like Mickey was teasing. _

_ “When’s the last time you did this?” Mickey asked. Ian had to think back… _

_ “It’s been six months maybe…” … and he’d been high as fuck so he hardly remembered it. _

_ “Okay, and you didn’t make a habit of it before, so trust me, we need to go slow,” Mickey murmured patiently. Ian sighed  _ im _ patiently but he forced himself to relax his muscles, leaving his legs propped for access but otherwise releasing the tension in his muscles to let Mickey proceed how he felt was best. He just… he wanted him so badly and at this moment hated that they hadn’t done this before (together) because now he had to wait even longer for the sake of not hurting himself. _

_ How annoying. _

_ With the final finger, the middle finger by the feel of Mickey’s hand between his legs, Mickey finally slowly entered him. Ian focused hard on keeping his muscles relaxed, on keeping himself open and a deep sigh burst from his chest at feeling Mickey fully sheathed inside of him. Mickey held still as Ian mewled and continued to focus on keeping himself relaxed. Mickey withdrew a little bit and applied more lube to his finger and the skin surrounding where they joined. Slowly he pushed back in and then retreated again, pushed in, retreated. Ian breathed deep sighs each time they rejoined, like he was relieved when Mickey was fully inside him. But it still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted  _ Mickey _ not just Mickey’s fingers. But he knew Mickey was right and that going slow was the smarted thing to do—Even if it was irritating and teasing. _

_ When Mickey was finally satisfied that Ian was prepped enough, he took his damn time sliding the condom on himself and applying more lube over the condom. The only reason Ian kept himself quiet was because he didn’t want to ruin the mood. When Mickey spread Ian’s thighs with his own, Ian felt his dick twitch and harden even more, anticipation hardening his every muscle as excitement crowded his stomach and spread a broad smile across his face. Mickey’s soft smile warmed Ian’s whole body as intense love permeated the entire room. _

_ As Mickey entered him for the first time, Ian suddenly understood why Mickey always looked like he was off in another universe. What they had…. What they did for each other fucking transcended mortal existence.  _ They  _ transcended humanity into something goddamned celestial. _

_ Feeling Mickey’s fullness, feeling the stretch and the pleasure vibrating from his groin to his core and through his raised legs, was more than Ian could bear. _

_ He gripped at Mickey’s shoulders and whined when Mickey stopped. _

_ “It hurt?” Mickey asked gently. _

_ “I mean… yeah, but I don’t want you to stop…” Ian replied, realizing only as he said it that there was a little sting. But he didn’t want Mickey to stop. Not for the godforsaken world. _

_ Mickey lowered himself so that he hovered just over Ian’s chest. Ian lowered him the rest of the way, throwing his legs around Mickey’s waist and winding his arms around Mickey’s shoulders. It was a position that Mickey had assumed a thousand times, and now Ian understood why Mickey always did it. _

_ He felt so close to Mickey this way… like they were sharing not only one body but one soul. Mickey’s hair was his hair, Mickey’s heartbeat was his heartbeat, Mickey’s pleasure  _ was  _ his pleasure.  _

_ He didn’t complain that Mickey took it slow. He let Mickey love him at his own pace and accepted what Mickey was willing to give and was prepared at any moment to say ‘thank you.’ _

_ Mickey came first, but he sucked Ian off the rest of the way and it was… God… Ian couldn’t even describe. He was happy. Simply, happy. _

_ …. _

Mickey was  _ just  _ about to peel the top of the lube packet off with his teeth when the alarm sounded.

“Fuck!”

“ _ Fuck!” _

They exclaimed together, reaching for their underwear before the guards ran by and caught them.

All Ian could think was thank God they hadn’t already gotten started… would’ve been a waste of lube.

“The fuck is happenin?” Ian grumbled, shifting his semi to the left in an attempt to hide it. Mickey stood absolutely no chance of hiding his own erection tenting proudly in his boxers despite the awful timing.

“Could be a bunch of things…” Mickey grumbled, visibly resisting the urge to check out the window to see what was going on.

The alarm set Ian’s heart rate on edge and… God he hated himself, he really did… but panic set in after five minutes of the intense  _ BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ,  _ of that  _ fucking  _ alarm. Mickey turned and his eyes bugged out of his head at the appearance of Ian. He didn’t even know what he looked like, definitely didn’t want to, but Mickey climbed back into bed with him and held him. He whispered in his ear that everything was fine, that they were together and no one would separate them and Ian was staying right the fuck here with him.

It comforted him… but only so much until the alarm shut off twenty minutes later.


	8. Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Hell is breaking loose and neither Ian nor Mickey have the power to stop it.

All through the night, Mickey held on to Ian, his arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. During the alarm, Ian curled into Mickey and Mickey could feel the pounding of his panicking heart against his side, which knotted his own stomach. He ran his fingers through Ian’s hair and told him it was okay, that they were okay. They were okay because they were together and they were going to stay that way. They were okay because whatever was going on had nothing to do with them and so they had the right to go ahead and go to sleep if they wanted.

Once the alarms ceased, Ian peeked from his hiding spot in Mickey’s chest and glanced around their cell — the quiet ringing in their ears from the ghost remnants of the previous squawk of the alarm. Ian sighed a relieved breath and sank back into Mickey’s chest and seemed to focus on steadying his breathing.

“ _Fuck…_ ” Ian breathed, the sudden sound filling the silent air. Mickey shushed him gently and whispered silly things into the empty quiet like:

 _You know I’m winning the benching wager we got goin on… So, you better get ready cus you’re gonna get a matching tattoo of my name on_ your _chest when you can’t catch up…_ _I think Iggy’s got some fairie in ‘im… Couldn’t keep his eyes off the guys playin basketball today...._ _Gonna track down the lube guy’s source for us… See if I can’t get a regular trade goin…_

At that he growled in Ian’s ear and Ian actually laughed. Mickey’s heart lit up a bit because he had finally been able to get a happier response from his partner — then of course, Ian was almost always distracted by promises of sex. Relieved, Mickey kissed the top of Ian’s head, but upon noticing a peeping guard, his eyes turned steely.

By about an hour into the lockdown, multiple officers had walked by their door, many of them gazing in like he and Ian were animals on display at a zoo. When they did, he glared at them and yet unabashedly wrapped his arm tighter around Ian’s shoulder and, keeping his eyes firmly upon their onlookers, settled even further into the mattress.

Mickey couldn’t figure out why the guards were suddenly so interested in them. Any time they were together, pleasing each other at night, Mickey never noticed a guard at the door… Why would they suddenly be so fascinated by their intimacy when nothing interesting was even happening? He knew they knew that they were obviously together by now, Iggy’s presence was the only reason that he no longer cared. But all of that was about the inmates… The guards, in Mickey’s experience, never cared so long as the loving or fucking was behind closed doors. If the guards were bothered by their relationship, they would have separated them by now… So… why have multiple guards walked by them to look in?

Ian had fallen asleep about an hour after the alarms went off but Mickey refused to sleep until the guards left them alone. Ian’s arms slipped from around Mickey’s chest, his head slowly sank from his shoulder, leaving a small wet spot over the tattoo of Ian’s name. Mickey grinned at the top of Ian’s head, rolled his eyes, and patiently wiped his chest with the side of his wrist.

He wanted to lay down with him, but the paranoia and suspicion of what was going on on the other side of their door kept him awake and kept him prostrate.

Ian’s brows furrowed and he sat up to adjust his position, lowering himself even father, blindly seeking out a new pillow as he lay back down. Mickey took the opportunity to straighten his own position and move one leg to the side so both legs were cradling Ian’s body. Ian curled into Mickey’s lap and Mickey guided Ian’s head to rest in a more comfortable spot so his neck wouldn’t hurt in the morning. Ian wrapped one arm around Mickey’s waist and lay the other over Mickey’s thigh. In sleep, Ian hugged the body part closer to him, like Mickey’s leg was the body pillow they’d never had.

Mickey smiled lovingly at the sleeping man and resumed running his fingers through his love’s hair.

When he’d first arrived, he’d worried that maybe coming back was  mistake. Now, he knew it was a good thing he did. When those college kids came to his corner, one donning a Gay Jesus shirt, he’d never stopped to think. As soon as he heard the tweaker say “going to prison,” there was no choice or hesitation. His first thought: _God-fucking-dammit, Gallagher. You were supposed to be okay, you shit! Guess I gotta go fuckin rescue you from yourself again._ He’d thought it like it was a chore and yet he knew it wasn’t enough to curse his name. Mickey had to return to Chicago to kick his ass and curse his name in person! And he was more than happy to do it because there was a _huge_ part of him that hoped with all of his might that Ian would take him back this time.. And keep him. And it was this very moment that reminded him of how grateful he was to be back, how worth it all of the trouble was.

 

_For the second time in his life, Mickey breezed into a police station for Ian fucking Gallagher. At the main desk, a cop sat filling out paperwork. He waltzed right up to the desk and, seeing movement, the cop looked up disinterestedly. Not for the first time, Mickey marvelled at how some things really were universal._

_“_ _¿Te puedo ayudar?”_ Can I help you? _The cop asked casually._

 _“Sí… Estoy aquí para rendirme.”_ Yes, I’m here to surrender. _The cop furrowed his brows and smiled a little in disbelief._

 _“¿Sí? Qué hiciste?”_ Yeah? What’d you do? _Mickey rolled his eyes. Who would’ve thought you’d have to prove your reasons for surrendering?_

 _“Soy Mikhailo Milkovich. Escapé de la prisión de Cook County... De Chicago..”_ I am Mikhailo Milkovich. I escaped from Cook County prison… From Chicago. _The cop still looked unsure, narrowing his eyes, clearly not recognizing him. Another cop walked by, though, took one look at Mickey, and ordered him to raise his hands. Mickey rolled his eyes and allowed the cops to search him and cuff him. Whatever they had to do to feel good about themselves… Good catch, boys._

_…._

_Hours later, phones were brought in to communicate between Chicago and his current “arresting officers,” — if you could really call accepting a surrender “arresting officer”..._

_“Alright, Milkovich. You’ve turned yourself in and we are arranging for your return to Cook County where you will face additional charges for the escape and the possibility of serving full time for the original charge of attempted murder. If you cooperate I may be able to talk a kind judge down but… It’s not looking good.”_

_“What if I’ve got something of interest for the US government?” Mickey asked tauntingly. His lawyer was quiet for a long moment._

_“Depends on what you’ve got and what I can swing with the DA.”_

_“Gotta know what I’ll be gettin before I spill.” His lawyer went quiet for a bit after that._

_“I’m not the DA I can’t give you guarantees without knowing what you have. My job from there is to give you a deal but you have to tell me what you have.” This time Mickey paused. How to phrase it… He had to pique interest without giving anything away._

_“Can I make some demands?” Mickey finally asked._

_“If you already know what you want, but I can’t promise they’ll comply.”_ Oh they’ll comply… _Mickey thought smugly._

_“Get as much out of ‘em as you can , but the first thing is I want to choose to choose where I serve my time.”_

_“Can you assure me that you’re not going somewhere to continue engaging in illegal activities or to find someone with whom you have a conflicting relationship?”_

_“Yeah,” Mickey sniffed, sounding a little offended to his own ears. Of course he understood that the lawyer would ask anyone that but it always felt the slightest bit personal when people doubted his ability to abstain from illegal shit. Then his mind went to Ian and his heart fluttered a little bit, imagining the look on the redhead’s face when they reunited… That look he gave last time — like his world stopped spinning, but in a good way. Like he’d found his center… Like — like everything was in perspective. Mickey expected no less than that look and was suddenly doubly excited for the chance to see that look._

_“Then I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Mickey sighed in relief and_ joy.

_…._

_Three days later, Mickey’s stomach was in absolute knots as Rique made love to him. Mickey never returned that love, and never particularly felt bad for it, but today there was guilt crowding his stomach… It wasn’t a good feeling. He always felt bad that Rique clearly loved him when he couldn’t love him back, but Mickey believed himself a selfish creature who used the people he needed to use. Everyone but Ian, that is. Ian was the only person he’d truly sacrificed for… And it looked like some things just never changed…_

_At this moment Mickey’s mind was far away as Rique moved over him, imagining from behind closed eyelids the cartel members’ surprised faces as the Mexican police raided their main hideaways. He’d turned everyone and everything over to the Mexican police in exchange for a reduced sentence and placement in Gallagher’s block — he’d confidently and unashamedly informed his lawyer of his intention to reunite with a romantic partner and to his immense shock, his lawyer had been all for it — especially when he told him that Gallagher had always been a good influence on him. Unbelievable? Definitely. But it’d worked so Mickey wasn’t fighting logic._

_Any minute now police would be breaking down Rique’s door to arrest them both so as not to tip off anyone with the cartel that he’d been in on it. Mere hours later, Mickey would be on his way back to the States… on his way to Ian — who, he found out wasn’t a redhead anymore. The moron dyed his hair before his final court hearing where, according to the news station, he’d plead not guilty for reason of sanity. There were a couple of snapshots in the article he’d found and… God, Gallagher was never going to hear the end of that bullshit._

_Rique kissed his shoulder and licked a bead of his own sweat away, chuckling flirtatiously. With one more powerful thrust Rique came and Mickey didn’t even bother to come too. He wasn’t even in the mood anymore, just wanting to get dressed before the cops arrived._

_Whenever he and Rique were together like this he never looked at him, never allowed himself to think about who was over him, driving into him, touching him. It wasn't that Rique was a bad guy or that he disliked the guy... he just wasn't Ian. And yeah, the guy knew what he was doing, but it still wasn't the same as when he was with Ian. With Ian, they shared breath, shared a soul, shared everything. With Rique, he wanted to have that same effect, but could only get close to that feeling when he closed his eyes and allowed himself to dream of Ian. Rique never asked why he kept his eyes closed, and thankfully he never screamed out Ian's name by accident. Even so, Rique could see or feel that something was off and h_ _is dark brows furrowed as he took in Mickey’s apathetic face._

_“¿Qué pasa, bebé?” Mickey rolled his eyes at the pet name and backed away from Rique, who was still buried inside him. Rique finally withdrew and Mickey chewed on his lip, tempted to tell him about what was happening… But if he helped Rique escape then his deal would be wiped from the table. He couldn’t risk that. Rique was a good guy, had been good to him… But Ian was the priority and he couldn’t risk losing the opportunity to be with him again. He sat at the edge of the bed and turned to Rique, who covered himself up with the sheet, looking at him in worry. Mickey felt his face soften, guilt once again invading his stomach and weighing on his heart._

_“Nothin’,” Mickey promised. Rique leaned in and Mickey kissed him chastely, then grinned softly at him, running a tender thumb across his cheekbone. Rique had great cheekbones._

_He stood, gathering his sweats and smokes. Usually he’d wait until he was outside to light up but… what the fuck of it? They were both going to be arrested before night’s end. He lit up as soon as his sweats were covering his ass, earning a severe scolding from his bedmate. Mickey ignored him, though, and just wandered to the deck where… sure as the world, two lines of cops proceeded under the balcony toward the front door. He sucked on as much of the cigarette as he could before flicking the cigarette out of the window (maybe burning a bastard? A man could dream) and played the part of the cornered criminal so perfectly his anxiety actually rose as though he almost believed the raid wasn’t of his own design._

_….._

 

 _Goddammit!_ Mickey screamed internally as his periphery picked up _another_ guard at the door! This time, though, the guard opened the door. It was exactly as Mickey had feared and he felt himself bracing Ian against him, hands protective on the other man’s back and shoulder.

“Get up inmate,” One guard demanded.

“What’s up?” Mickey asked as casually as possible.

“Not you — Gallagher.” The guard snapped back.

“He’s sleepin,” Mickey retorted, absolutely intending to imply the man was stupid for expecting a sleeping person to respond to an order.

“Wake him up.”

“Why?”

“ _You_ don’t ask questions, Milkovich! You wake him up now or we’re _dragging_ him out!” Ian, of course, stirred on his own from the noise.

“Mick… Why’s it so loud?” Ian mumbled sleepily into Mickey’s thigh. “Kenyatta and Mandy at it again?” _Jesus…_ Was he still in a dream or was he delusional?

“Uh, no, man… Guards need ya to go with ‘em.” Ian’s brows furrowed.

“But I din’t do anything…” He mumbled through barely parting lips. Mickey felt his jaw lock and unlock, felt the muscles on the left side tighten as he ground down his jaw. Mickey returned his attention to the three guards in their room, eyes pleading despite himself.

“Seriously… Why do you need him?” Mickey asked as diplomatically, as calmly, as possible. The guard who was originally talking looked about to speak, eyes gentle when another guard (same prick who’d pinned Ian to the cinderblock wall last month) bustled through and simply reached for Ian’s arm wrapped around Mickey’s thigh. Mickey surged forward and tried to bat the guard’s hands off but the guard just shoved him back.

“Yo! Stop! He didn’t do anything!” Mickey cried, shoving the guard back this time. Ian, through all of this finally woke up and sat up in bed looking frantically around, clearly trying to piece shit together and coming up empty.

“Come with us, Gallagher. We’ve got to investigate the suicide of your neighbor.”

“Suicide?” Ian breathed, dazed.

“Why the fuck him?” Mickey demanded. “If morons wanna hang themselves by their own uniforms, they’re gonna, doesn’t mean anyone else was involved!”

“It’s a lithium overdose, smartass!”

“That’s where my meds’ve been going?” Ian asked aloud to himself, almost drunkenly.

“Ian, _shut up!”_ Mickey hissed, eyes blaring open in panic, which flooded through his entire being as he pieced together what was going on… And that small statement sounded an awful lot like a confession…

The prick guard grabbed Ian by the arm and yanked him to his feet. Ian stumbled and swayed, drunk on sleepiness and his third fucked up dose. His face was drained of all color and Mickey instinctually went to him for support and surged forward, eyes blaring and breath catching, to break the guard’s grasp on his arm. More guards closed in and pulled him back.

“Wait, wait! Lemme explain — ”

“You had something to do with this, Milkovich?”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” the third guard sneered. Mickey rolled his eyes, suddenly remembering when he’d asked Iggy to track down lithium and he couldn’t.

“A. My family’s never dealt with that — you can’t get high on lithium. B. No, neither of us have anything to do with that. Actually, someone’s been fuckin with Ian’s dose for weeks now so if anyone is the wrong-doer it’s the cowardly thief next door!” The guards all stalled and exchanged glances at Mickey’s declaration.

“Why is this the first time we’re hearing of it then?” First guard asked impatiently.

“Because that asshole nurse wouldn’t listen to him and threatened to toss him in seg if he kept telling him his dose was wrong!” Mickey hissed angrily. The guards all exchanged looks again.

“He’s off his meds?”

“No!” Mickey’s stomach dropped to his ass at the question. _Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ “He’s not _off_ them, there’s just been one pill missing — ”

“We gotta get him to psych,” Guard one reported to the others, businesslike.

“What? No!” Mickey surged forward again, prepared to go the fuck down fighting to keep Ian here with him.

Guard number two grabbed him and guard one and three took each of Ian’s arms, one on either side. Mickey grunted like a wild animal trying to get around the guard who tried telling him some bullshit about “helping Gallagher.” Mickey wrestled his arm out of the guard’s hand, so he kicked the back of Mickey’s knee and disarmed him on the floor.

“ _Fuck!_ No! He doesn’t need psych, he just needs his dose and a day or two to sleep it off! _Please!”_ The guard kept panting the stupid lie that Ian needed this and that he was going to be taken care of at this place. Mickey finally stopped struggling and watched as the two guards carted Ian away. He was so sleepy and so out of it that he actually walked with them… Like they were escorting him to an important dinner or something.

“Milkovich! Calm _down!_ ” The guard begged above him. Finally… finally he stopped struggling and the guard released his arms. Mickey beat one fist against the cement floor, wanting so badly to just _scream._ They weren’t supposed to be separated… They’d promised each other to never be separated… Mickey lowered his face to the floor so the guard couldn’t see his tears. The guard finally stood and slowly walked around Mickey’s position on the floor — cautious, like dealing with a feral tiger.

Mickey rolled over to his back and sat, leaning against the base of the sink, rocking back and forth as a litany of horrible visions rose to his consciousness.

He realized he must have looked frantic — wild, even, staring at the guard with his eyes wide and hands thrust deep into his hair, shaking from the effort of restraining his _powerful_ desire to slug the man in front of him. He had too much energy…. Way too much…  he stood and started to pace, the guard watching his every move warily.

“He’ll be okay, Milkovich, he’ll be back. They’re gonna make sure you’re tellin the truth and when that checks out and his meds are balanced again he’ll be back.” He sounded like he was trying to talk down a raging shooter during a hostage situation.

But shooters with hostages have power. Mickey had no power.

He’d let them take Ian away and he had absolutely no idea when he would be back or _if_ he’d be back. The prison would much rather pin the death of an inmate on another inmate than admit that _their negligence_ led to two victims. Anger renewed through his body, firing every sinew, demanding release. But he couldn’t… Again, he had zero power here to act or say what he wanted or needed.

The guard checked outside the cell and stepped back to stand directly before him.

“Listen,” he whispered, drawing Mickey’s attention. He stopped pacing and faced the guard whose eyes looked so sincere Mickey actually felt a little placated. “I get that you care about Gallagher. You got history, that’s clear. But you’ve gotta let him get help.” Mickey’s eyes narrowed in renewed anger.

“He wouldn’t’ve _needed_ help if that _fuck-hole QUACK_ of a ‘nurse’ had just _listened to him_ in the _first_ fucking place!” Mickey roared. The guard shushed him and Mickey punched out a humorless laugh before falling back into near tears. He was blinded and deafened by rage. “I — I want that moron _fired!_ I want him fuckin fired or — ” he cut himself off. Threatening the man’s life to a guard would get him absolutely nothing… Probably would get him locked in seg, actually. Mickey sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. The guard looked sympathetic — sorry, even. Mickey wiped angrily at his eyes, pissed that he felt moisture. He sniffed one more time and, as casually as possible, asked, “So… he’s not accused o’ anything anymore?”

“Like I said, they’ll check him out and if both your stories check out then we’ll launch further investigation.”

“The nurse was either mixing up their doses or the other guy was stealin Ian’s somehow. I’m tellin you!”

“And if Gallagher’s tox-screen supports that then we’ll continue looking at other possibilities.”

“It will. Ian’s on his meds. The doses have just been fucked with a couple o’ times.” The guard nodded and slowly backed out of the cell. As he closed the door, Mickey called out, “He’s the victim here! You hear me?”

 

/////

All I an felt was _sore._ His eyelids were so heavy and stung so badly he didn’t want to even _attempt_ to open his eyes. But… Sleep was over. Mickey’d start prodding at him any moment. The lights were already on, the orange tinge of his eyelids showed him that much. He sucked in a big breath and cringed at the tight muscles in his shoulders that screamed for him to stop all movement.

“Mick?” Ian murmured out, his voice crackling from lack of use — and dehydration. He listened… Not so much as a hum…

“Mick?” He turned his face toward where he figured the door was, but something held him back. Finally, brows furrowed and confusion scrambling his thoughts, Ian opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by the insanely bright fluorescent lighting bouncing off the _loudly_ white brick.

But… the room was too large.

This wasn’t his cell.

Mickey didn’t answer because Mickey wasn’t here.

_Then where the hell is he?_

_And where the fuck am I?_

He creaked an eye open, testing the surroundings.

Yup, still bright as fuck.

He clenched his eyes shut again and turned toward what he _hoped_ wasn’t a handcuff keeping his arm flush with plastic material… His one cracked eye shot that hope all to Hell.

A hospital bed.

He was fucking _cuffed_ to a _hospital bed!_

Where was he?

Where was Mickey?

What happened?

Was he hurt?

Was Mickey?

Finally, he opened both eyes and tried to sit up.

His movements apparently alerted the tech, who was by his side only moments later lifting the bed so he could sit up.

“What happened?” He finally croaked out, his breath coming out in short pants.

“You’re at the psychological recovery unit for right now. We have taken blood to test your lithium levels and determine what you need to get back on track.” Ian glanced to the foot of his bed and suddenly remembered Mickey yelling _he didn’t do anything!_

“What do they think I did?” He asked blankly, his tone dead and remorseful. He tugged at the handcuff if only for something to occupy his brain. The tech passed Ian a white paper cone of water and Ian sipped gratefully.

“It was determined last night that your neighbor may have OD’d on lithium. All inmates who take lithium were going to be questioned in an attempt to stop the dealing.”

“Well, he didn’t get it from me! I’ve begging for my lithium!” Ian was suddenly very awake and very ready to explain.

“Your medication was withheld?” The tech asked, horrified.

“I dunno about ‘withheld’ but I told the nurse guy every time my cup was missing a pill and he’d never look into it! It was like he thought _I_ was the one tryna OD.” The tech examined Ian carefully.

“Toxicology reports can take up to six weeks to come back, but while the victim was still alive they pumped his stomach during revival attempts… Various pills were found — among them, five or six lithium tablets.”

“At least four of those were mine, then. I was shorted one pill three times and this past time I was shorted two.” The tech’s eyes burst open, brows then furrowing in sympathy.

“Okay. The toxicology report is already in the works but I’ll pass that along and recommend you return to your cell during the investigation.”

“How long before I get back?”

“Got a hot date?” The tech teased. Ian stared at him blankly, not amused. The tech’s smile fell and he coughed in his fist awkwardly. “No more than three days I think?” He said it like a question which sent a wave of irritation thrumming through Ian. He breathed in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sank back into the pillows.

There was nothing he could do…

Mickey was on his own besides Iggy.

 _Iggy better fuckin watch Mick’s back… He fuckin_ _better._

 

/////

News of Mickey’s freak out spread almost as quickly (maybe even quicker than) the news of Lawrence’s suicide. No one seemed to know why Gallagher was involved but they all knew that Mickey fought tooth and nail to keep him from being taken away for some reason.

Mickey could take the teasing and he’d already survived being openly gay in prison. But now there would almost certainly be a target on both his and Ian’s backs.

“Mickey. He ain’t dead and he’s innocent. You’re a bachelor for three — ” Mickey cut his brother off with the most hideous glare he could manage. Iggy immediately shut his mouth and averted his eyes to his tray. Mickey did not have a tray. His stomach was in total knots from last night/early this morning. His back and shoulder muscles were wound up so tight he was like a compressed spring, ready to explode at anyone to so much as nudge at his last nerve. But he had to contain himself. If he got in trouble he could be moved away and at best miss Ian’s return or at worst lose track of Ian for the duration of their stays. He had to stay _right here._ Mickey dropped his head into his hands and rubbed aggressively at his eyes.

“He…”

“I know.”

“But he —”

“Mickey…” Iggy grabbed his brother’s wrists and lowered them to the table so Mickey had to look at him.

Blue to blue, the brother’s silently communicated Mickey’s anxieties and Iggy’s sympathy. Releasing his trapped breath in a rush, Mickey finally relaxed his shoulders and slumped into the table.

“Nothin you can do, bro.” Mickey didn’t respond at first. Only after he remembered the last time Ian was getting his meds adjusted in a strange place did he respond.

“At least last time I could chain smoke and get drunk,” Mickey muttered resentfully. Iggy snickered though they both knew Mickey’s statement wasn’t the slightest bit amusing.

“Hey, Milkovich! Where’s your girlfriend?” A random inmate called across the common area. A bunch of inmates laughed and out of the corner of his eye, he even saw a guard laughing.

_Fucking. Fuckers!_

Iggy grabbed hold of his brother’s forearm, sensing Mickey’s move to stand and charge. Who the fuck were they to mock Ian like that? Who the fuck were they to laugh at shit they had no idea about? 

Mickey slammed his fists into the table and briskly walked to their bunk. A couple of officers tried to follow him, to make him stay put, but the nicer guard from last night stopped them.

In their cell, Mickey didn't know what to do with himself.

Should he sleep? Should he work on the bullshit for Paolo? Should he fuckin dismantle the assholes who dared to make fun of Ian?

No, no, and no. He had a better use of his time.

Iggy bound into his cell as soon as the rest of the inmates were released for the day.

“I got my first day of work assignment. Whatcha want me to do?” Mickey laughed without humor.

“Do what you want, Ig. I got _a fuckin hell_ of a lot on my mind right now.”

“I… I know, bro, but you’ve gotta fill your end of the deal.” Mickey rolled his eyes, not even needing to say his thought, _chill your tits, I’ll do it._ “I just… I don’t want you to make more trouble for yourself…”

“An’ I won’t.. There ain’t exactly anythin I can say before you give me the lay of your job now is there?” Iggy sighed, biting his lips to show that he was holding back his thoughts. And he fuckin better. “Lemme know if you hear anything but just… do your job and keep an eye out for an in; we’ll fuck with it later.” Iggy sighed and left the cell without another word. Mickey wanted to call after him, but Marcus wandered in next.

“What the fuck is this, a fuckin free clinic?” Mickey griped before Marcus could open his stupid trap.

“Well, you are good at givin cheap tricks to fix shit problems,” Marcus shot back with a smirk. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“The fuck you want?”

“Heard your boyfriend got locked up.”

“Good for fuckin you,” He snarked, plopping down on his bed in irritation.

“Yeah, but… not so good for you…” Mickey paused before returning his attention to Marcus. His heart stalled in his chest at Marcus’ tone. The prick almost always joked about everything, but his tone just now was deathly serious, like a warning.

“What’d you mean?” He asked cautiously, trying to add some intimidation to his glare.

“Your boyfriend slipping into your boss’ business?” He clucked his tongue in disapproval. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“He did _not._ Ian had nothin to fuckin do with it.”

Marcus held his arms open wide as though Ian’s absence was indicative of his involvement.

“The prick stole his meds, OD’d, and now everyone thinks that Gallagher _gave_ his meds away?”

“That’s what Paolo sees.”

“Well fuck what Paolo sees, Ian’s innocent here. A punk offed himself and if it hadn’t been pills he’d’ve found another way. Iggy’s going to his first day of work, we’ll work on my end of the deal after that.”

Marcus nodded solemnly. His gut knotted up at that response… It wasn’t a positive response.

…..

Mickey stared at the metal box intently, fearfully, and waited for the numbers to stream into his mind. He knew this number… He _knew_ this number!

His fingers slipped heavily over the keys of the number pad on the payphone. Each punched number he second guessed and yet he had to keep moving forward. _What was her number?_

“Hi, you’ve reached Barbara — ”

_Nope._

He gently fingered the cradle of the phone box so he could end the call without drawing attention to the fact that he technically already made his call.

He might be able to get away with one more… So, maybe it would be safer to attempt Mandy…

The ten digits flowed easily this time… but he got a busy tone… Not even an option to leave a voicemail.

He exhaled, dejected, and hung up the phone. The guard standing watch over the phones didn’t even look at him as he walked out to enter the second line for yard time.

////

Being bedridden in the psych ward at Cook County was even worse than the hospital. At least there he was so doped up that he was practically high and he could just color or play checkers… chill. Here, he lay in bed. Cuffed. Had to ask permission to use the bathroom like a goddamned invalid.

One window actually looked out on the yard, but try as he might on his way to the bathroom, Ian couldn’t catch a glimpse of Mickey.

Maybe he’d missed him… Hopefully Mickey was carrying on about his day, trusting the —

 _Yeah…_ He couldn’t complete that thought. Mickey was going out of his mind and he knew it.

As he lay back in bed, he begged the nice tech to get a message to his roommate. The tech looked sincerely sorry but insisted that he couldn’t.

“He’s fine, Gallagher. You’re fine. You’ll be back in just a few short days and when your toxicology report proves your story you’ll be free to go about your business.” Ian sighed and lay back in bed. The tech stood there awkwardly and bit his lip, seeming to think of what else to say. “They’re uh… they’re changing pill distribution procedures… So this doesn’t happen again, in case you’re telling the truth.”

There it fucking was again — _if I was telling the truth._ Fuck them! Of course he was telling the truth! They just didn’t want to admit they fucked up!

“Great…” Ian replied absently. The tech still looked uncomfortable, clearly struggling with what to say or do next, and coming up blank. “Can I… Can I just get like… A deck of cards or somethin? I’m _so_ bored.” The tech grinned and held up a finger, turning to return to his corner of the room.

Leaving Ian uncuffed… He grasped his raw wrist in relief and sighed, thinking — no, praying! — that Mickey was doing okay.

////

It was shower time now. Iggy was done with his first shift and Mickey actually wore himself out pretty good playing basketball with the boys from Paolo’s pack — enduring so much teasing about Gallagher that he’d been tempted to grab at least one of them by the uniform and jerk his knee into their groin.

Wearing himself out on the court would ensure that he sleep tonight. And hopefully no dreams would accompany that sleep so he could just spend _eight hours,_ at _least_ eight, not worrying.

“I walked by the psych wing,” Iggy murmured so quietly Mickey could almost not even hear over the rain of shower water. Mickey’s head jerked to his brother, interrupting his focus on washing his abdomen.

“ _And_ ?” Mickey demanded loudly. Iggy rolled his eyes, calling him out for being stupid by getting loud but… oh fucking well! Mickey’d been out of his mind all fuckin _day!_

“I didn’t go inside today, but I will tomorrow.” Mickey lost his breath and damn near smiled in relief. Nearly… they weren’t home free yet, Ian was still in psych. “Want me to bring him a note or somethin?” Mickey could have dropped to his knees and kissed Iggy’s feet…

“Yeah.. yeah, I’ll write somethin.”

“You got paper or a pencil?” Mickey shook his head and Iggy made a face of disappointment.

“I’ll find a way,” Mickey asserted passionately. Iggy grinned and dunked his head under the stream of water and ran soap through his hair.

“And other’n that… That may be our in…” Iggy grinned smugly. Mickey furrowed his brows and turned to wash his back. He hummed in confusion, face communicating how stupid he was already expecting Iggy’s suggestion to be. “Hear me out… we use that slippery cart situation to smuggle our shit in! I make it look like I’m cleanin somethin and well… whoops some packets of dust fall on the bottom and — ”

“No.” Iggy furrowed his brows back. “No!” Mickey snapped back. “You want to use the exact thing that Ian’s bein _accused_ of doin and use the thing that landed him in psych in the first fuckin place to get an in? _Fuck you!_ ”

Iggy sputtered an irritated and indignant breath. Shutting off the water, Iggy shook his hair out and wiped the running water from his arms and chest.

“It’s a good idea, Mick. Don’t be so fuckin sensitive — ”

“I’m not being sensitive. It’s a stupid idea and it’s how all _three_ of us are gonna land life sentences! My job is to train you so you stop doin stupid shit, well — lesson number one! Right the fuck here!” Iggy huffed out in irritation and stalked out of the showers. Mickey turned back to his shower and started washing the rest of his body, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t get clean.

Mickey released a deep breath of his own and rest his hands against the tile wall so he could lean instead of carrying all of his weight on his own.

_Three days…. Three. Days…._

Mickey tuned out the entire room around him. Forgot about his brother huffing and puffing as he worked his uniform up his wet legs. All he could allow himself to sense was the water beating on his back and the phantom presence of Ian's long body pressing up against him... God... They used to share showers all of the time when Ian lived with him at the Milkovich house. When Terry wasn't there no one gave a shit what they did. He always suspected his sister was just glad to see him happy for once (if only because he finally stopped calling her a cunt in casual conversation). Even Svetlana didn't seem to mind so long as Yevgeny was taken care of, which with Ian around, he was.

Ian's thin, long fingers trailed from his right hip over his obliques to his shoulder blade, where the memory of Ian's thumb pressed into the tense muscles there. He could feel Ian pressing into him, the outline of his shaft impressed just over his ass, tempting Mickey. But Ian wasn't even trying to start anything this time... He just curled his arm around Mickey's middle and hugged him close... fingers caressing his ribs. 

Mickey hummed happily at the memory, a small smile spreading over his lips... until a cold shiver erupted down Mickey’s spine.

He whipped around and realized that Iggy had already left.

He was alone.

It was probably just that he hated fighting with his brother... Because he did... But he'd never actually had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach... Like he was being watched or something....

He didn’t know what it was that told him to turn around, but after one peek over the shoulder, Mickey darted to the left, hands outstretched to grab hold of the hand gripped tight around a toothbrush shiv.

“ _Goddammit!”_ He grunted, deflecting the next strike from his opponent.

“We had a fuckin deal!” His attacker screamed. The man was fully clothed, an additional advantage over Mickey in his shower shoes and otherwise completely exposed.

“And it’s still on, you maniac!” Mickey screamed back, voice breaking as he dodged another swing. Seeing an opening, Mickey ground his heel into the wet tile and could only pray he wouldn’t knock himself off balance as he whipped a roundhouse kick to Paolo’s side. He fell back against the wall, crashing against one of the water controls spine-first. The air burst from Mickey’s lungs at once but he just moved to the left to dodge around the the rest of the shower mechanics.

Paolo came charging back and Mickey was prepared to meet him when someone looped their arms under his and locked their hands behind his head in the master headlock.

“Whoa! I just started training Ig, how the fuck did I go back on my word?” Mickey called, twisting his torso to avoid Paolo’s strike. Paolo’s angry eyes were suddenly mere inches from Mickey’s panicked ones. His former boss huffed and switched the shiv between hands, grabbing hold of Mickey’s arm with the new tattoo.

“You pledge allegiance to enemy, Milkovich. Don’t play dumb!” Mickey’s eyes flashed to his tattoo.

“I was in a cartel in Mexico. They deal down in Texas and Cali, no where near Illinois or Nevada. This was for them but my spot with them is closed.” Mickey tried to say this slowly and without panic — confidently. But Jesus Christ that was hard to do with a shiv mere inches away from your naked belly.

“Your _boyfriend_ ’s dealing! _Don’t. Play. Dumb!”_ Mickey’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“He’s not… Those pills were legit — for him! The fuckin pill head stole them from him and believe me I’d’ve kicked his fuckin ass for it if I’d known.” Paolo thrust the shiv to Mickey’s neck and Mickey tried to dodge but the minion behind him held fast.

“Are you lying to me, Milkovich?” Paolo whispered menacingly. Mickey’d never cried in front of someone threatening his life… But he felt tears brewing as he thought of Ian coming back and hearing that Mickey’d been shiv’d in the showers. And… Goddammit, why hadn’t he listened to Ian? Clearly someone was feeding others information — false info, but info to get people pissed. Mickey raised his eyes back to Paolo’s, not wanting to give the man with the temper any reason to think he’s lying.

“I’m tryna get out of the game,” Mickey huffed, trying to keep his eyes level with Paolo’s. “The only reason I’m doin this for you is to prove I ain’t gonna cross you. And I’m not. I — Ian’s never been in the game, he just takes his meds and wants to serve his time. We’re not gonna get in your way.” Paolo paused and rest the warm, sharp plastic to his throat and Mickey sucked in a breath, begging Paolo internally to believe him.

“The tattoo is from Mexico?” Mickey peeked back at him and nodded stiffly. “And the cartel is no more?” Mickey nodded again, a little more freely as Paolo released the shiv’s pressure against his neck.

“And if I tell you there are more reapers in here?”

“I ain’t seen ‘em and I won’t join ‘em. I swear, man, I just wanna serve my time and get outta here.” Paolo raised his eyes to the goon holding him and huffed, signaling to release him — at least that’s what it seemed like since that’s what happened. Mickey finally sucked in a full breath and backed away from the two.

 _Mother of_ _fuck!_

“You be sure you never lay eyes on another reaper. Or else it’ll be your boyfriend we hang from shower head.”

Mickey nodded his understanding.

As soon as both men were gone, Mickey collapsed to the shower floor and vomited long and hard, finally letting out that pent-up fear — terror, really — and allowing the tears to flow.


	9. Dreams and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two of separation... And let's just say, Gallavich struggles with some separation anxiety.

Readjusting to his correct dose was  _ not  _ as big of a deal as they tried to make it out to be. But also… Apparently these idiots didn’t know how to read a fuckin file because Ian realized for last night’s dose that they were  _ only  _ providing his lithium.

“Where’s my antipsychotic?” Ian had asked when the tech handed him the cup of pills.

“A-Anti...psychotic?” He stammered; so Ian knew this guy had  _ personally  _ fucked it up. Ian sighed and rolled his eyes beneath closed lids, trying with  _ all  _ of his might to practice patience.

“I’m bipolar 1 with psychotic features. I don’t know what dose  _ you all  _ have been giving me, but I was  _ prescribed  _ 150mg of lithium and 5mg of olanzapine, and that has been working  _ fine  _ before that  _ dick  _ fucked me up!” Ian tried to say all of this calmly… He did! But his voice sank lower and lower as he spoke and he knew he’d failed.

A bit of guilt panged his heart… But not enough to actually apologize. The tech turned, taking the cup of pills with him, and hopefully left to fix the dose.

This tech had been remarkably kind yesterday before that mishap, which made Ian’s frustration even more rude, he knew… But he was  _ over  _ having to fight for his medication when he was trying  _ so fucking hard  _ to  _ finally  _ do the right thing!

After laying around for a couple of hours yesterday morning, the tech had allowed Ian to borrow a book to read while he was still restricted to his bed. The only book he had available was a Stephen King novel Ian had never heard of. But he was so bored and so desperate for entertainment that he dove in anyway.

It was a really cool story, though nothing had really happened yet, and he was enjoying his read… until a chapter when the stay-at-home mom Ian had liked… She punched her baby in the  _ face.  _ She fucking pummeled her own baby and Ian felt every single punch deep in his own chest.

And… And the baby smiled afterward… And Ian didn’t even question why. 

He knew why.

Though Frank had always been the one to throw the physical punches, Monica’s blows were the ones that left scars. And yet, for every figurative punch, he was always  _ that much  _ more desperate for her love and attention. So try as me might, just like that baby, Ian smiled at her after her schemes and disappearances that left their deepest marks  _ every time.  _

All of the times he called her selfish there had always been a following pang of regret. He always wondered  _ why  _ she chose the life she did and always wondered if  _ they,  _ her children, were the selfish ones. And after his own first couple of times on the meds, he’d concluded he was right for all of those years of empathizing with his mom.

But now, laying here so desperate to do the right thing for his family and for himself, he knew he had been wrong to call anyone else selfish — and it was his instinct to defend her that scared him even now.

All of his life, Fiona insisted Frank treated him differently because he looked just like her.

...Now he wondered — Where did the character resemblance end?

The door on the opposite side of the dorm swung open and Ian knew it was meds time. He hadn’t slept much over the course of the night, so he had actually been waiting for this moment basically all night, because he was ready for  _ people.  _

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw an object headed toward a freckled hand just before the book dropped into his lap. Ian turned to face the kind tech and finally recognized a nametag attached to a long white lanyard — B. Ames. He picked up the same book from yesterday and gazed absently at the cover… Green fog surrounding a large house with fire for windows.

Ian suddenly remembered the nightmares he suffered from while living with the Milkoviches. Mandy had accidentally set something in the oven on fire — a pizza or something — because she and Kenyatta had gone at it and she fell asleep right after. The fire alarm didn’t go off and Ian flew into a panic upon walking into a smoke-drenched kitchen, the golden flames only  _ just  _ visible between the cracks of the oven door. As soon as Ian screamed for help, Mickey ran from their room in his boxers and immediately leapt into action, shutting the oven off and filling pots with water. When he ordered Ian to start opening windows and doors he finally started back to reality. He ran to the back door and opened each window in succession until he reached the front door, which he also opened. 

By that time, Mandy had woken up and was so astounded by what she had done that for the rest of the night all she could do was apologize. Ian did his best to comfort her, but really they were sitting together each fighting off their own panic attack.

For weeks after that, Ian had regular nightmares about fires — him trapped in an inferno with no Mickey to help him, Mickey caught in a fire without Ian being able to get to him (or being too chickenshit to do anything), them both caught in the burning house that Terry locked them in and tauntingly lit match after match right where they could see, and finally charging in after Yevgeny caught in a housefire only to find Mickey also passed out and Ian left with an impossible choice.

These dreams were never rational or even particularly realistic, but he had always awoken from Mickey shaking him awake and holding him, wiping away his panicked tears for the next several minutes until Ian finally calmed down enough to either settle into sleep or decided to go fix them a mid-night snack.

“Ian?” The tech called in a gentle whisper, dragging his attention to the cup of pills in his hand. Ian smiled awkwardly and accepted the cup. When he realized he still needed water to swallow the pills down, he turned to Ames. The tech murmured, “If that book is too much you don’t have to finish it.” Ian’s brows furrowed but then he just frowned… He really did want to finish the book because it was  _ something  _ to do… but not if it meant he was going to all of these dark places in his mind. He sighed in disappointment at himself and sank into his pillow.

“I guess it is.” Ames gave him a sympathetic look and took the book back. The next second, a small cup of water appeared in his periphery. 

…...

 

_ Gentle fingers caressing his scalp, running through his hair, brought him out of a deep sleep to awareness of warm blankets tucked over his shoulders and wrapped comfortingly around his whole body. His whispered name from a familiar tenor voice invited him further to wakefulness. Ian hummed in question, finally acknowledging his whispered name. _

_ “Time for the clinic,” the sweet voice whispered. Ian groaned, feeling his face clench in distaste. “C’mon, man, you flushed your meds so you’ve gotta get more.” This time, Ian tossed over to face the wall.  _ Fuck the clinic,  _ Ian thought fiercely to himself. He didn’t have the energy to fight him on it but he wasn’t going. _

_ Behind him, Mickey sighed impatiently and stood from the bed.  _

_ He heard the rustle of denim, likely from Mickey pulling his on, followed by the  _ whip  _ of cotton as he probably tugged his shirt on. _

_ The sudden silence told Ian that Mickey was standing still, watching him. He didn’t want to turn over but he needed to not have Mickey fight him on the meds issue. _

_ “You know, I always resented for Monica for not just…  _ taking her fucking pills.  _ I used to call her selfish and weak for not just  _ sucking it up  _ and fucking doing what she needed to do to be our mom…”  He sucked in a shaky breath and waited for Mickey to respond. When he didn’t, he continued, “Now I’m wondering if  _ we  _ were the selfish ones for asking her to go through this… this torture.” _

_ “It’s for your own safety, Ian. You pulled some scary shit last week,” Mickey murmured gently. Ian turned over to give Mickey his most pathetically weak look, to beg with him to understand. “You… You scared the fucking  _ shit  _ out of me, Ian. I know it sucks, but—” Ian surged upright to cut him off. _

_ “No, you don’t understand. You  _ can’t  _ understand until you have this shit forced down your throat.” Mickey’s mouth snapped shut. “I felt like a  _ shell  _ two days ago. And yesterday it felt like I was walking underwater to get anywhere. My head feels like it’s full of cotton and thinking about getting back on that shit is…” Panic rose in Ian’s stomach. He hated it. How could he express in words how much he hated it? Mickey gazed at Ian with so much sympathy, Ian knew he was close to breaking him down to be on his side. “Please don’t make me get on that shit.. Please? Now that I know about it and now that I know how bad I can get I can just… Be more self-aware, you know? If I can think through my ideas and just be aware of myself then I can stop myself before I do something stupid.”  _

_ Hardness flashed in Mickey’s eyes and he knew that Mickey wasn’t nearly as close to the caving stage as he thought. What Mickey was thinking of, Ian never found out — and he was sure he didn’t want to know… That cold look twisted his stomach with guilt of what unknown thing he’d done to haunt Mickey that thoroughly. But they didn’t go to the clinic that day or the next. Ian’s next manic break three mornings later is what got Mickey to crack down. _

And now here Ian was… begging for his correct dose and dreaming of when he’d make it back to Mickey, meds sorted out and ready to go so that they could move on.

“Come on, Gallagher. Down the hatch.” He accepted the water and… Down the hatch.

////

 

Waking up without Ian there was even harder than the first day. And yet he knew there were at least another two left. From watching Ian get dragged off by a bunch of asshole guards and being threatened in the shower the night before, to going to bed without him for the first time in a month and waking up absolutely clueless about either of their safety in this hellhole… To put it lightly, Mickey was fucking miserable.

Of course, Iggy walked up to Mickey like nothing had happened before. As he turned into the cell, his brother started off by saying, “hey, bro, you ain’t eatin?” but cut himself short when he saw Mickey in the mirror, observing bruises around his shoulders and one Mickey couldn’t see on his back. “ _ Jesus…” _

“I don’t even want to fucking hear it!” Mickey growled, turning to face his brother. Iggy gaped and worked to get around Mickey to look at his back but Mickey turned with him so he had no choice but to face him. Finally, after spinning a full 360 degrees, Iggy stopped and looked Mickey in the eye. He strank back, recognizing the ferocity in Mickey’s gaze. “Oh… God…”

“Yeah, God,” Mickey snorted. “You  _ left me. _ You  _ knew  _ Paolo had it out for me and you  _ left me _ !”

“Whoa, I didn’t know shit!”

“You were the one worried about me filling my side of the deal so don’t even fucking lie for your own guilt!” Iggy’s mouth dropped open… but then snapped shut. Mickey continued glaring his brother down, accepting the throbbing pain in his back and shoulders to fuel his frustration with his brother.

It was better than moping with hopelessness or agonizing over what Ian was doing, or how he was being treated at the mercy of the staff here.

Mickey had tried to get out of this bullshit  _ so. many. times.  _ It was always for Ian.. and every time, he was in one way or another beat back down to what he was raised to do. 

But this was the first time he genuinely  _ didn’t  _ want to be a part of this shit anymore.

Ian really made him believe that they could both be better, do better than how they were raised. Until Ian had gone off his meds, Ian had a great job, a comfortable life. 

Mickey wanted that for Ian again…. and he wanted that for himself.

…...

 

_ Mickey had Ian to thank for how few scars he had from his hustling days. All of the late nights he spent patching up Mickey’s busted knuckles and bleeding cheeks or lips had probably prevented a lot of unsightly lines and holes in his face. One time Ian was even able to pull a bullet right out of his shoulder to save them the money of an emergency room visit. _

_ It was that bullet, though, that had been Ian’s final straw. _

_ “You could’ve fucking died, Mick!” Ian raged as he dabbed peroxide around the wound. _

_ “It was just the shoulder, chill your shit,” Mickey grunted, taking another sip of Evan Williams. Ian’s freckled hand snatched the bottle from him and leaned in so they were damn near nose to nose. _

_ “People  _ die  _ from shots to the shoulder, Mickey! There are a lot of places you could bleed out from there! Not to mention how fucking close it is to the heart? That means the blood doesn’t have to work so hard to get there, and when you’re stressed… Mickey…” Ian’s eyes suddenly filled with moisture and Mickey’s chest seized. _

_ Had he really been that close to death? _

_ Mickey had been beaten to within an inch of his life at least two times before and he’d been shot in the leg and the ass… and he’d survived all of that only to hear that he really could have died from this? _

_ Jesus… Mortality was bullshit. _

_ Also, seeing Ian’s distress over the thought… He knew he shouldn’t doubt Ian’s devotion or love, but for some reason Ian’s acts of love always took him aback. How was it that he could get Ian to love him? He didn’t even fucking do anything, he just started following him around one day and suddenly they both decided they didn’t want to be apart. _

_ Ian stood and turned to face the back wall of the living room, away from where Mickey sat at the dining room. He could still see Ian swiping at his eyes to remove all traces of the emotion… But Goddamn him, he’d already seen that emotion, that panic. And Mickey felt like a world-class dick.  _

_ “What the Hell else am I supposed to do, Ian? We’ve gotta get money somehow! And you know my brothers ain’t gonna think o’ somethin! They’re fuckin helpless! An’ Mandy don’t want anything to do with this shit anymore so she’s doin her own thing… We can only keep 40% from the Rub ‘n’ Tug...” Ian turned back around, his eyes alight with fear and passion. _

_ “Literally  _ anything  _ else, Mick. Anything. You could work security at my club—” _

_ “For what? $10 an hour? You fucking kidding me? I can make what I’d make in a night there in one deal!” _

_ “It’s not about  _ money _ , Mickey! It’s about your safety, it’s about you coming home without  _ bullets in your fucking body! _ It’s about—” Ian cut off in a gasp and it took Mickey a long moment to understand, but he pieced it together as he watched Ian wrestle with himself, fighting with emotions he clearly had been withholding for a long time. _

_ “You?” Mickey guessed. Ian released a gasp of breath and finally nodded, collapsing into the chair beside Mickey. They sat in a dark silence, Ian practically wheezing as he tried to contain himself, and Mickey not breathing at all. _

_ This was what he’d always done. He’d never really done anything other than deal drugs, run numbers, deal guns… He had barely any education, no real work experience beside the Kash ‘n’ Grab (and who would want to hire someone who was there basically to appease a probation officer?). _

_ Disbelief and defeat flooded Mickey. He knew he couldn’t stop doing what he was doing because he had to provide for his family… But if he kept this up he was either going to lose his life or lose Ian. _

_ “I—” Ian’s eyes flicked to his as he tried to speak, his own throat suddenly clogged with emotion. “I don’t know what else to do, Ian… I can’t just…” he was at a loss for words and could only mime the concept of quitting with his hands… a big *poof* gesture. _

_ “You think I like hustlin my ass? No. But it’s steady money and my life’s not in danger. I’ve got  _ real  _ backup. People who actually don’t want to see me hurt or uncomfortable. Guys who will fuck another guy’s day up for messin with me. That’s what a real job buys you. _

_ “This  _ is  _ my family business!” Mickey snapped, suddenly defensive. “I’m  _ always  _ surrounded by family!” _

_ “ _ Some fucking family!”  _ Ian bellowed, grabbing Mickey’s arm in a tight grip. Mickey hissed as the pressure reached right into the wound, though Ian had grabbed him a considerable distance from the actual shot. Ordinarily Ian would have apologized for causing him pain, but apparently the hot-head was too fuckin mad and he just kept glaring at Mickey as he stared at his still slightly bleeding wound. _

_ A shrieking baby’s cry erupted through their sudden silence and Ian visibly hesitated before standing from the table and going to answer the infant’s call. _

_ Mickey exhaled harshly and wiped at his stinging eyes, then rubbed aggressively at his nose. There was nothing he could do about the hollowness in his chest, though. That went far too deep and was a result of being out-argued.  _

_ The truth was this: His family bailed. Iggy ran as soon as he realized the deal was going sideways and his usual backup, his cousins, must have ran with him, taking all of the weaponry with them. Mickey’d had no choice but to run, unarmed and alone, away from five Italians Hell-bent on getting a better deal than what they’d already agreed upon. _

_ Oddly enough, it was the alley he and Ian had raced down all of those years ago where he finally slowed down, realizing he’d lost them. He had breathed a sigh of relief but quickly learned of his injury when he leaned against the brick and his shoulder screamed in protest. _

_ Ian returned with the baby resting on his shoulder, little arms tucked against his chest. Though he still wasn’t completely comfortable around his son, the image damn near brought him to his knees.  _ This  _ was his family.  _ Ian  _ was his family.  _

_ Mickey stood from his seat at the table and cautiously made his way over to Ian who watched him with sadness and resentment in his eyes. Standing less than a foot away from Ian, Mickey swallowed hard, anxiety fogging his brain and stirring his stomach. _

_ “I… I get you, okay? I’ll think of something else. I promise.” Ian’s eyes softened but worry still tightened his face. _

_ “Really?” He whispered. Mickey glanced at his shoulder, then to his son, then to his partner. _

_ “Yeah.” _

…...

 

“Bro, I… I was pissed, okay? I’m sorry! I shouldn’t’ve left you —” 

“You’re goddamned right you shouldn’t have left me!” Mickey turned away from his brother and he heard the older man’s suck of an inhale at the horrible vision that must have been his back. But he didn’t care — actually, he  _ wanted  _ Iggy to see it. Had Iggy stayed at least it would have been a fair fight. At least he wouldn’t have shown so much weakness. Paolo now had grounds to dangle Ian in front of him anytime he wanted. He would  _ never  _ regain his cred. And the likelihood of him freeing himself from Paolo was slim to  _ none. _

“Do you fuckin realize I could have been killed?” Mickey snapped as he wrestled his arms through the undershirt. He returned to facing Iggy and started snapping up the top half of his uniform. “Who would watch after Ian if he’d killed me?  _ You?”  _ Mickey scoffed audibly to portray just how absurd that thought was. Iggy’s cheeks colored in shame. “Do you… Do you even know what would happen to Ian if I was suddenly —” he gestured with his hands to show the *poof* he didn’t want to verbalize because it was lame as fuck. The truth was, though, he knew Ian’d be fine. Though Ian was great for now at making Mickey feel loved and convincing him that Ian loved him… history told another story. The truth was he needed Ian and he was afraid of dying because he hadn’t had enough  _ time. _ But he really did like to believe that Ian would be destroyed if something happened to him… Because Mickey knew it would be damn near insurvivable if something happened to Ian.

The only thing keeping him grounded at this very moment was knowing that he was being closely monitored by doctors. He had to believe they wouldn’t let anything happen to him, he just had to.

“Mickey, I —”

“Find me an in today or I’ll tell Marcus that you’re not workin out and that I need the next guy.” Iggy’s mouth dropped open, his blue eyes exploded out of his face.

“But— I’m your brother!” Iggy stammered.

“And I’m yours,” Mickey replied coldly. It clicked for Iggy, Mickey could see it in his eyes and posture as he straightened his back.

“I’m sorry, Mickey. I really am.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re grateful you can actually tell me that, huh?” Iggy collapsed his face into his hands and made an agonized noise. Mickey let Iggy stand there and wrestle with himself for a while, but suddenly felt guilty that he was placing all of his frustration on Iggy. He honestly wasn’t even  _ that  _ upset at Iggy! He was pissed at  _ this place!  _ He was pissed at that nurse for fucking Ian up, at the guards for taking him away, at Paolo for being a territorial fuck… But Iggy was an easy face to place blame to… So that’s where he sent that frustration.

“Go to work, man. Find an in.” Iggy looked up to his little brother and nodded. Contrition clouded his whole demeanor as he slumped out of Mickey’s cell — Mickey’s  _ and Ian’s  _ cell! Ian was  _ coming back! _

He had to.

/////

 

It turned out that Ian didn’t need to worry about occupying his time with anything. He wound up sleeping most of the day.

_ After chasing each other down the alley they both felt so…  _ high  _ that they kept running and running until they ran right into the thick of a wooded park. Children were running wild and, despite being a good two feet taller than most of them, Ian and Mickey blended in to their playful dance. They kept dodging each other, chasing one and then the other until Ian led them both to the most dense part of the woods. He dodged Mickey, running around the largest tree and tricking him by running back the other way. It was just like during an intense game of tag when the “it” person finally cornered their target and the target was looking for an opening to escape from the trap. Only for them they were both “it” and were both the target.  _

_ Mickey got closer and closer until finally, Ian jumped and grabbed hold of the low hanging branch just over his head. Mickey gasped in shock at how smoothly Ian then kicked his legs over to the lowest branch on the tree that they had both been dodging this whole time, and used the leverage there to move to the next branch. Mickey grinned wickedly  and stepped up on the branch that Ian had just vacated and followed his path to halfway up the tree where they both had pretty much ran out of space to go. They were both panting and laughing between choked breaths. _

_ “Jesus, Gallagher!” Mickey panted, grin tugging so hard at the corners of his mouth that Ian’s returning grin was his usual goofy variety. Mickey’s eyes noticeably softened and Ian thought, not for the first time, that maybe this feeling was mutual afterall. Maybe he  _ wasn’t  _ making it up that Mickey liked him too. _

_ Ian’s arms were stretched over his head, grasping the next branch overhead, but settled down to sit on another. Mickey was somehow straddling the trunk from his position on his own branch, and though he announced that his ass was going numb, he didn’t move.  _

_ Mickey looked lost in thought, so Ian just watched him and sank into the warm feeling of innocence and childhood… A feeling he never actually got to experience since he had to hit the streets to thieve and connive from an early age, but a feeling that he knew in the moment. _

_ Mickey’s smile started to fade and he shifted around uncomfortably, like he was resisting something… A thought? His numbed ass? _

_ Mickey coughed uncomfortably and kicked his leg around so that he was now leaning his shoulder against the tree trunk. Not so cautiously, Mickey dropped down each branch until his sneakers thud on the soft Earth floor. _

_ Ian called after him… but Mickey kept running until Ian’s own shoes beat against the ground. He turned around and watched Ian jog up to him. _

_ “I gotta go, a’right? But… We can hang Thursday. The rooftop?” _

_ Ian’s eyes conveyed his disappointment and slight feeling of rejection, but nodded and leaned forward. Mickey started to back away, fear running through his eyes… But Ian didn’t stop. He knew Mickey’s rule about kissing. But… Maybe he could lead him there gently. He pressed his lips against Mickey’s cheek and his heart collapsed in his chest as he heard Mickey exhale in what sounded like reverence.  _ Ian smirked and retreated.

_ “Thursday,” Ian agreed, pulling back to look into Mickey’s eyes and confirm. Mickey nodded… pulled back, and ran home. Ian walked back home himself, smirk permanently etched there as he knew — Mickey loved him as much as  _ he  _ loved Mickey. _

_ …… _

 

From this amazing memory, Ian was rudely shaken awake. He snarled out a curse and an abrasive ‘what?’ and found Iggy’s mug staring back at him, eyes wide.

“Damn. You were  _ out _ !”

“You don’t fucking say!” Ian hissed. What the fuck was he doing here? Was he allowed in here?

“Look, Mick’s going out of his mind without you,” Iggy blurted before Ian could ask. Ian’s brows furrowed and stomach collapsed in guilt.

“I figured as much…” He could still hear Mickey pleading with the officers, insisting he hadn’t done anything wrong and begging for him to stay there. Iggy checked around the room and started picking up something from the floor… Ian suspected it was fake and he was just trying to make it look like he was working in case anyone came around but, hey, maybe there really was something on the floor.

“Anything you want me to tell him for you?” It wasn’t just a brother looking out for a brother… Iggy sounded  _ desperate.  _ Suddenly he knew that something had gone down between them.

“What’s wrong?” Ian demanded. Iggy’s brows shot up but then he furrowed them, trying to look confused.

“I mean, my brother’s upset you’re gone so—” 

“No,” Ian interrupted firmly. “You pissed him off and you’re lookin to make it right. What happened?” Iggy stood and rotated to the other side of his bed, though it wasn’t any stronger of a hiding place.

“Nothin you need to worry about.” This time… he sounded sincere, but intuition told him that he was still hiding something. Ian sighed, knowing that if Iggy was resisting it was probably something he really shouldn’t hear right now when he was going to have to do everything he could to convince the nurses that he was good to go back to gen pop. Granted, that shouldn’t be hard because he really never should have  _ left  _ gen pop, but still.

“Tell him I love him,” he requested sadly. Iggy’s eyes softened and he nodded. “Tell him I’m bored, but I’m fine.” Iggy nodded gratefully and rushed away back to the little maintenance cart. 

That was… weird.

////

 

Mickey’d learned to play cards from the master. But it wasn’t Frank or even Terry who was slammin at gambling. It was Angie Zhago.

Her face looked like a pug’s ass and her personality was  _ much  _ to be desired, but she could play. One of the times he couldn’t get it up with her she suggested they play strip poker, insisting it’d be sexy and would get him hard — fat fuckin chance — and every. Single. Time. He was angry and definitely  _ not  _ hard.

After losing so royally to her, he demanded that she teach him. So every few days he’d go over to her place and practice — then would lie to anyone who asked to say they were banging. In the end, she didn’t give a shit and his secret was safe. So it was a big win-win for him.

After two summers of practicing with her, he started playing small games with pitiful pots, but he won them all. He could not be beat. And the last time he came to the joint he had won a  _ fuck  _ ton of commissary food that sustained him and let him be picky about what he picked out of the chow line. Down in Mexico he’d pissed off plenty of cartel guys who insisted he had to be cheating, but the other guys just called them pussies and told them to let “real men” try.

They lost too, but they weren’t sore losers like some others.

Now, Mickey had a plan. His reputation at poker still spread wide, so only the guys who had enough to risk dared to try beating him. With Ian gone he didn’t much feel like playing, but he knew he had to figure out a way to distribute the shit that Paolo passed them, and he just knew that poker was the way to do it. It was the best way to get condoms and lube on the downlow too. He just had to get that ball rolling.

That morning after Iggy sulked away, Mickey gave himself another ten minutes or so to rage and just… be hurt about what all was going on. But finally, he turned to face the mirror, sucked in a huge breath, and as though flipping a switch he decided to make his first move.

The first guy to sit down was a bulky fucker, but a bulky fucker with a history that Mickey could read as easily as a picture book. Mickey dealt and both men assumed their poker faces. Mickey kept one eye on the guy, checking for tells as they raised, and raised, and raised again.   
  


"So what brings you to play?" Mickey asked calmly, as casually as he could manage as the excitement of a sure win flooded his system. The guy looked confused.

"Just... tryna dethrone the best to prove he ain't shit," the guy shot back irritably. Mickey snorted a laugh and arched one eyebrow at his competitor. As they showed their hands, Mickey realized that his initial plan of trading Paolo's shipment over poker was  _not_ a smart idea. What if people played with him for the competition and he misunderstood? And even if he did find a way to secure the table, what if people figured it out and snitched? Also... tossing dust onto a jackpot in the center of a table wasn't exactly so discreet as a pack of lube or a condom. Guards might turn a blind eye to something like that... but obviously not the drugs.

Ugh, it was an awful idea. He took the 'pot of candy and a couple of stamps and collected the cards to shuffle.

He studied the cards, examined how each edge of paper filed in after every other... Like a zipper.

He had to think of something else, or they were  _all_ going to get fucked.

…….

Count came and passed... but the doors didn't open.

Was something wrong?

Christ, did someone else kick it?

Mickey craned his neck against the window to the outside to try to uncover anything strange. Suddenly, the nurse passed him with the med cart. Passed right by him because Ian was still in the medical unit. He continued craning his neck to follow the path of the guy, keeping his eye solidly on the deep blue scrubs as he stopped at the door next to his. The other neighbor who apparently had meds. 

He couldn't see the nurse's hands... but the door was  _definitely_ shut.

Mickey's breath punched out of his chest and a bright-ass smile tugged at his mouth. Hell, he teared up a little! 

Because when Ian came back, things were going to be different. When Ian came back, he'd be able to take his meds without anyone else having access to them. And if his dose was off, he'd have  _every_ support in letting the guards know. Things were changing around here...

When the doors finally opened and Mickey could join his brother for dinner, he looked Iggy dead in the eye and murmured harshly, " _that_ is why your idea was stupid."

Iggy didn't even look confused. He knew exactly what Mickey had meant. The rules around medication distribution changed for the protection of the inmates, sure, but probably even more important to the pricks that run this place, the protection of the nurses and guards. Though Mickey  _wasn't_ completely angry at Iggy for leaving him alone, because ultimately it wasn't his fault that he was threatened in the showers--it would've probably happened eventually--he  _was_ pissed that it was over something Mickey had ended up being right about.

Iggy just nodded his head solemnly and listened to Mickey as he went over possible ways of pulling this shit off. They needed a damn good fuckin plan, and something transferrable. Because Mickey was  _not_ in this shit forever.

As soon as they both sat down, Mickey still sitting with one seat open beside him out of habit, Iggy rushed into a description of how he faked cleaning around the mental recovery ward to talk to Ian. And there was something about him sleeping like the dead and then waking up all grumpy when Mickey finally stopped him.

"Whoa! Ig--You talked to Ian?" Mickey asked, hope heightening his tone to a humiliating degree (except he couldn't be humiliated when it came to Ian).

"Yeah! I clean the mental health ward, remember? I just kept pretending I was picking up some shit around his bed and woke up him--the fucker can  _sleep!--_ And I told him that you were freakin out, not that he was shocked, and he told me to tell you--" He  _finally_ slowed down. Iggy's eyes softened and his mouth quirked up, driving Mickey  _crazy! What did he say?_ "He told me to tell you he loves you." Mickey averted his eyes, feeling blood brightening his cheeks. Now  _that_ would never not be embarrassing--acting like a fuckin schoolgirl over Ian Gallagher. "He loves you, and he's bored but otherwise fine," Iggy laughed. Mickey was able to chuckle a little but that wasn't enough. He knew it was selfish and greedy... But after growing so accustomed to knowing every thought that went through the redhead's fucking mind, only having those three things was maddening. It was the same as when he wasn't able to speak to Ian the first time he got locked up. His instinct was always to look to his right and see Ian, and to tell him whatever was on his mind or already be listening to something the redhead had been saying. In prison that first time... He had nearly driven himself mad hallucinating what Ian was doing or what he would be doing... what he'd say if he were able to talk to him right that minute.

Thankfully he wasn't that bad off--yet. But it was enough to know that he was still on the prison property, he was alive, he said he was fine... And that he loved him.

As he lay in Ian's bunk that night, inhaling Ian's scent from his pillow, Mickey swore to himself and Ian that he was going to find a way around the fucked up situation with Paolo. So  _fucking help him._

_ ///// _

 

Ian’s eyes steadily opened to complete darkness. It was the middle of the night — night two without Mickey. His throat shortened as he choked off a sob. He missed Mickey so much it was like he had an entire limb missing from his body — or like his heart had been ripped right out of his chest. That dream… the one of them running around in that park like a couple of schoolchildren... It made him crave for freedom with Mickey like he hadn’t experienced it ever before. He’d taken so much for granted back then, and even took too much for granted in here.

After Iggy left, Ian had pretty much fallen right back to sleep but now he was wide awake and wondering how Mickey was doing. Damn Iggy for letting him know that Mickey was out of his mind.  _He already knew that goddammit!_ He didn't need that kind of verification! 

Looking out the small window, Ian could see a full moon. She was a brilliant white and slightly illuminated the medical dorm. It was as though the moon’s light was bathing him in reassurance… or even as though Mickey’s love was somehow being transported through the moon’s gaze.

God, that was so fucking stupid… but if that kind of thinking is what got him through this… so be it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts! I want to make sure this story is what the fandom wants and make sure that my writing is maintaining a high quality. I won't know without comments and constructive criticism <3


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